




A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS 




>y Wliit"wortli Wynne 



UNDINE 

A TRAGEDY IN FOUR ACTS 



BY 

WHIT WORTH WYNNE 



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PAUL R. REYNOLDS 

New York 

1908 



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Copyright 1908 

BY 

Charles William Cayzer 



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DEDICATION 

My Dearest Sister, 

The opening scene of this drama relies for its picturesque 
setting upon a lake that bears your name. It was inevitable, then, 
that my thoughts should turn to you — thoughts that are never far 
absent from you — when I considered a sponsor for this latest child 
of my muse. Under the aegis of your gentle heart I feel that 
Undine cannot fail to win approval, nor could I wish for a 
siveeter guardian deity. 

The play is founded upon a romance by the German poet, 
Friedrich de la Motfe Fouque. And when one reflects upon the 
mystical source of his inspiration, may we not appositely recull 
the lines of a great English poet, his contemporary^ — 

. . . '"Tis a ditty 
Not of these days, but long ago' twos told 
By a cavern zmnd unto a forest old; 
And then the forest told it in a dream 
To a sleeping lake, zvliose cool and level gleam 
A poet caught as he zvas journeying 
To pheobus' shrine; and in it he did fling 
His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space. 
And after, straight in that inspired place 
He sang the story up into the air. 
Giving it universal freedom.'' 

So, you see, the lake was involved — the Lake of Constance! 
In hoc signo spes mea. — Your affectionate brother, 

THE AUTHOR. 



DRAMATIS PERS0N.;E 

DUKE OF FREIBURG. 

SIR HULDBRAND OF RINGSTETTEN. 

SIR KONRAD, ^ 

SIR BELVEDERE, C iuitors to Bcrtalda. 

SIR GAUCELM, 

KUHLEBORN, King of the Water-spirits. 

FATHER HEILMANN, a priest. 

KARL, an aged fisherman. 

DUCHESS OF FREIBURG, 

BERTALDA. her adopted daughter. 

GERTRUD, tire-zconian to Bertalda. 

MARTHA, -unfe to Karl. 

UNDINE, adopted in infancy by Karl, afterzvards zcife to Sir 
Hiildhraud. 

Lords. Ladies, Citizens of Freiburg. Water-spirits. Rowers. 
Tire-women and other attendants. 

Scf.xe: Firstly, on the shore of Lake Constance: aficrivards 
at Freiburg and Ringstcitcn. and on the Danube. 



UNDINE. 

ACT I 

Scene I. — Spring. The Lake of Constance, flushed with the 
lights of sunset. To left centre, on a small peninsula, a fisher- 
man's cottage, with boat drawn up on the beach. To right 
and left front a forest of pines. In foreground a strip of 
silver strand, leading down to the lake. As the curtain 
rises, sea-nymphs are discovered disporting themselves on 
the brink of the zuaves and singing the refrain of the water- 
spirits. The sky becomes momentarily more lurid and 
threatening, as the sea-nymphs take up in turn the stanzas 
of the Undines' song. 

The Song of the Undines or Water-spirits. 



We dwell in the depths of the opaline sea ; 
Far older than man's must our lineage be — 
Whilst the waters yet cover'd the face of the earth, 
The mermaidens sang of man's mystical birth. 

Loo-a-lala, loo-a-lala, sing we low; 
Wind and wavelet wafts us idly, to and fro. 
Men live on hereafter; 

We must pass and go : 
Therefore, thro' our laughter. 
Wails the note of woe. 



II 



We dance on the edge of the low-rippling wave, 
In the curl of its foam-crests our light limbs we lave; 
We chase the white horses far over the main. 
And shepherd them back to their pastures again. 



8 UNDINE 

III 

We sleep in the dews till the Summer night closes. 
And ope the lush lids of the soft-petal'd roses ; 
But when the plumed sun shoots his arrowy beams, 
We trip o'er the meadows, and bask in the streams. 



IV. 



We float past the cresses ; we skim the wide meres- 
Not swifter in flight the rath swallow appears — 
We tumble o'er cataracts, yeasty in foam, 
To the translucent floor of our crystalline home. 



We glide down the glaciers and snows of the mountain, 

To upbubble in mirth from the heart of a fountain ; 

We meet and commingle in fields of the air, 

When the rain-clouds are lower'd and the thunder-claps 1)Iare. 

VI 

We sport on the breakers ; we love the wild roar 
Of ocean retreating far down the loud shore ; 
We plunge in the cascades of emerald spray, 
Which the prows of the fishermen cast in our way. 

VII 

And when the pale moonlight steals over the deep. 

We dream of dead heroes long pillow'd in sleep: 

Our spousals take place in that mystical hour. 

When our hearts blossom forth like the rose in her bower. 

VIII 

But the greatest of wonders beneath the dark sea 
Is the palace where Kiihleborn rules o'er the free; 
Thro' millions of years hath its colonnades grown. 



UNDINE 9 

i )n the spoils of the ocean is builded his throne. 
T.oo-a-lala, loo-a-Iala, sing we low; 
Wind and wavelet drift us idly, to and fro. 
Men live on hereafter; 
We must pass away: 
Rippling tones and laughter 
Are but for a day ! 
[The lights in the cottage now stand out dear, 
throzving silvery beams across the water. 
The scene darkens amid thunder and 
lightning. 

[Exeunt. 

Enter (from cottage) Karl 

Karl (calling). Undine! Undine! Thou wayward child, where 
art thou? — 
The very heavens are drench'd with driving mist: 
O not a boat could live on the wild waters ! — 
Thou ever choosest for thy impish pranks 
Such nights as these. Never a thought thou hast 
For thy poor foster-father's burdening years! 
The dews and damps of this unwholesome eve 
Will creep into my joints, and rheumy pains 
Reward my watchful care. 

Enter Huldebrand, with drawn sword, groping his way 
through the forest. 

fluid. A light— a light ! 

Thank God, at last, a human habitation! 

Methought that forest stretch'd to the world's end. 

(Perceiving Karl) Ah, friend, canst give me shelter for 
the night? 
Karl. If friend, why that so threatening blade? 
Huld. Good, my man ; 

Such unimagined creatures have I met 

[Sheathing sword. 

In yon dark forest that, till I found thee. 

This (tapping sword) seem'd the only friend I could rely on. 



10 UNDINE 

Karl. A better friend thou hast suspended there : 

The holy rood alone can ward their evil ! 

[Crossing himself. 

'Tis said (lowering his voice) its shades are haunted. 
Few make choice 

Of its unhallow'd depths — the darksome home 

Of elf and pixy, gnome, and savage sprite. 

Who ventures there hath seldom travell'd back. 

To tell his tale. 
Nuld. Not without knowledge speak'st thou ; 

For, from the moment that I lost my way. 

Its gloom grew deeper. Fierce and waspish imps 

Stung, harass'd, snapp'd at me with threat and gibe. 

A tall, white man, shrouded in yeasty foam. 

For ever nodding his rime-fretted locks. 

Seem'd most to urge them on. 
Karl. Speak low, young sir ! 

We are too near his element. How cam'st 

Thou thro' his toils? 
Huld. Where'er I urged my steed. 

His shadow cross'd my path and forced me back. 

I struck at him; but, ever as I struck, 

I did but notch my sword against the rock : 

He vanish'd, tauntingly, in powdery spray. 

And, where I struck, a laughing waterfall 

Fell, sousing me with spume. 
Karl (alarmed) Tis he himself — 

King Kiihleborn that did command these sprites ! 
Huld. The spirtling fiend! 

[Kiihleborn is seen to rise menacingly from 
the lake, and slowly disappear. 
Karl (falling back in terror). Come, sir, I do beseech thee! 

It is not safe to speak of him near water. 
Huld. (drawing). The same malicious face! — the same lithe 
arms 

That wound about the neck of my poor charger 

And strangled it! [Kiihleborn again rises. 

Karl. Back to my hut, I pray thee ! 

Huld. (entering) Curse him! Curse him, and all his kind! 

[Thunder. 
[Exeunt into cottage, Huldbrand and Karl. 



UNDINE 11 

^'HM. So !— Curses 

Come home, young sir, and sooner than youth reckons. 
Yet 'tis a brave spirit! Right vahantly he bore him 
Thro' trials numerous and unaccustom'd 
Undine shall give him back his steed unharm'd. 

[Kiihleborn sings : the sca-nymphs, one by 
one, peer above the waves to listen to his 
song. 

Kuhleborn's Song. 

I 

Blow, winds ! and war, ye waters ! 

King Kiihleborn commands ! 
The fairest of our daughters 

Now thrills at touch of hands. 

II 

Let him, who comes to woo her, 

The soul of honour shrine! 
Should mortal love undo her, 

The Sword of Vengeance mine! 

Ill 

Who weds a water-maiden. 
His love must never wane : 

Twin hearts, with rapture laden- 
One soul in bodies twain. 

IV 

Crash out, ye waves, your thunder. 

Roll up the silver shore; 
For, lost in Love's sweet wonder, 
Undine is ours no more ! 

[The scene fades out, the howling of the 
tempest gradually drowning the distant 
wail of the sea'nyrftphs. 



i2 UNDINE 

Scene IL — A room in the fisherman's cottage, with door opening 
into porch at the hack. Lattice-windows to right and left of 
door. The right wall is covered zvith fishing nets and gear. 
The fireplace is on the left-hand side of the room, zciih cur- 
tain beyond it leading to a bedchamber. Everything about 
the room is neat and cosy. A log-fire is burning brightly 
on the hearth, near which the fisherman's wife, Martha, is 
seated knitting. As the curtain rises, a splash !ii<':, as of 
water, is heard at the lozver casement. 

Mart. O that elf-child ! that water-splashing- pixie ! 
■No sooner am I seated than I must 
Be on my feet to chase the runaway. 
Never a moment's peace — never a moment f 
These socks I should have knit a sennight since 
But for that malapert ! I will not stir. 

[Water is splashed on the floor throui^h ihc 
half-open lattice: Martha rises iiid'g- 
nantly. 

You fathers ! O you fathers ! How can we 

Bring up, or ever hope to discipline, 

Your daughters, when you teach them to defy us ? 

We strive to break them in ; you say they're i' th' right : 

And no conceivable wrong can they commit, 

So long as they hang fondling on your necks ! 

[Opens door. 
Undine ! Undine ! come in out of the storm. 
And cease your wantonness ! 

[A mocking laugh heard zvithoni. 
I'll not pursue her : 

She shall not mock me with her elhn laughter. 

[Comes in, and shuts door. 
The child is past forbearance ! There's her father. 
Well nigh bent double with rheumatic pains. 
Breasting the pitiless night and plaguy winds, 
[n search of her; whilst she, the ungrateful one. 
Dashes our panes with water! 

Enter Karl and Hu!dh}-and 



UNDINE 13 

Karl. Ah, good wife, 

I bring a stranger-knight to entertain thee. 

[She smiles a greeting to the knight, but 
remains seated. 

She meaneth no discourtesy, young sir : 

With us poor folk it ever is the custom 

To give the seat of honour to the old. 
Mart. Bless his young heart ! he would not have me rise 

To give him room? But you are welcome, sir. 
Huld. Kind dame, my thanks : your hospitality 

Is doubly graced when 'tis so frankly given. 
Karl. Hath Undine yet return'd? 
Mart. Aye, to her pranks : 

Now look you there (pointing to spilt water). The girl is 
quite beyond me ! 
Karl. God's heaven, she makes the world more merry for us ! 
Mart. Merry, say you? You'll aye excuse the lass; 

You do abet her mischief. (To Huld.) Be seated, sir. — 

Her father hath nigh spoilt the maid. — But you 

Are travel-stain'd ? you have, then, ridden far? 
Huld. But yestermorn I set out on a quest 

To probe the mysteries of that dark wood. 
Mart. Speak not of it — and, least of all, at nightfall ! 
Huld, Your pardon, dame; for without thought I spoke. 

I have a castle by the Danube's source : 

There am I known as Huldbrand of Ringstetten. 

x\ll young men love adventure — I, not least 

[JVater is splashed against casement. 
Mart. That girl, again ! 
Karl. Wait : T will call her in. 

[Opens door. 

Undine, desist thy childish tricks for once ! 

A stranger-knight hath honour'd us this day: 

Come thou, and give him welcome, 

[Lozv laugh heard ■withonf. 
My gracious guest, 

O'erlook th' unseemliness of her behaviour : 

Her playful, every-varying modes appear. 

To those who know her not, unmannerly ; 

Yet, in the main, the child is full of goodness. 



14 UNDINE 

Mart. So you may say! When you return from fishing, 

Or from your journeys thro' that darksome forest, 

Playful her moods may seem — O yes, and pretty! — 

But to abide her waywardness all day, 

To hear no word of sense but artless chatter 

Of crystal castles underneath the sea, 

Would tax the patience of the best of women. 
Karl. Well, well, good mother, what thou say'st is true. 

Thou hast to do with Undine, / — with the sea : 

It often breaketh thro' my dykes and nets ; 

I love it, all the same ; and thou, too, lovest 

That dainty maid, in spite of her caprice? 
Mart. In truth, I cannot long be vex'd with her ; 

And yet methinks she might 

[The door is flung open, and Undine enters. 
Und. Father, hast thou 

But mock'd me? Where is, then, thine honour'd guest? 

[She perceives Huldebrand; they gaze raptly 
at one another. 
Huld. Art thou of earth, or heaven, thou beauteous maid? 
Und. Of neither, sir: nor sun, nor stars, me cradled. 
Huld. Thou art too light for earth, too gay for heaven — 

Of dream-land then? Such wonderment doth hold me, 

I scarce believe mine eys. 
Und. (archly). Yet are thine eyes 

True servitors, for they are frank and piercing : 

Not so thy thoughts ! 
Huld. A very sylph art thou ! 

Only a sylph could move with such light grace. 
Mart. Turn not her head, young Sir. 
Und. Mother, be still! 

The knight shall guess my lineage. (To Huld.) 
Hast not heard 

That sylphs are of the air — and unsubstantial? 

Touch me, and I am very flesh and blood 

As thou. 
Huld. Would that I might! 

Not till thou hast 

More narrowly conjectured of my kin. 
Huld. Thy kin are here? 



UNDINE 15 

^^^d. Nay: they are foster-parents, 

And, therefore, kinder than most kinsfolk are. 

[Caressing her father. 
Huld. Earth, air, and heaven have I already ventured — 
. What then remaineth but the unplumb'd deep? 

The sea could not produce so rich a jewel, 

A pearl so peerless? 
Und. Scant is thy knowledge, sir, 

Of those who dwell beneath the purple ocean. 

What if the water were my home; wouldst then 

Despise me, gentle knight? 
fiuld. Wonder of wonders. 

Almost thou art too fair to look upon ! — 

Could my enthralled eyes deny thy beauty. 

Or my enraptured soul withhold its homage? 
I'lid. (aside). Oh. if he ever could draw back again, 

This heart would tremble out into the dark, 

To lose itself within the misted main ! 

For nothing have I yet beheld so noble. 

[Sits on a stool before Huldhrand. and plays 
with the ehain suspended from his neck. 
Mart. Your conduct is unseemly, Undine. Rise, 

And set you to some task. Not so did maidens 

Disport themselves, in presence of a stranger, 

When I was young! 
^arl. Disturb them not, good Martha : 

Look they not well together? 
Hiild. (aside to Undine). That dainty hand. 

How it doth urge my kiss ! 
Und. (examining chain). How beautiful! 

How wondrously inwoven are these links ! 

So beautiful, so closely interlaced 

Are hearts that love. (Aside, rising.) O would I were that 
chain. 

So I might lodge me ever on his breast ! 
Mart. Your spinning, child: come, set your stool by mine. 
Und. (placing her wheel near Huldbrand) . 

I shall work here, if it so pleaseth me. 

O soft-voiced stranger, with the luminous eyes. 

How cam'st thou to our cottage? Didst wander lonf?- 



16 UNDINE 

Thro' desolate wastes and reaches of the world 

Or e'er thine alterable heart found peace at last 

Beneath this roof? 
Karl. Forbear thy questions, Undine. 

Und. I have but ask'd our guest how he came hither : 

He has not answer'd me — I now command him ! 
Huld. Thro' the wild wood I came, thou lovely being. 
Und. Then tell me, friend, why thou didst enter it, 

Also what strange adventures there betid, 

For, without such, none 

Karl. Hold thy peace, young Sir. 

An thou'dst not slight our hospitality. 
Und. (approaching Karl angrily). He shall not answer? 

Father, say'st thou so? But (stamping her foot) 

I zvill be answer'd ! 
Mart. Respect your parents, child. 

Karl. Go to thy room. Undine ; thou hast forgot 

Thyself. 
Und. Forgot myself! Is't thus thou choosest 

To scold and to upbraid me? Then Til go 

Out in the storm, where I can breathe more freely. 

[Darts out of door. 
Karl (restraining, Huldehrand) . It were no use to follow. 
Now shall sleep 

Leave us this livelong night ; anxiety 

And slowly-creeping fear invest our hearts 

Till the day break and Undine comes once more. 

Go thou to rest, dear wife. We will sit on: 

Sleep would not visit now the smoothest pillow. 

[Exit Martha. 
[Karl pours out wine, and places his guest in 
the big leathern arm-chair. 
Huld. Tell me, my worthy host, how that bright child 

First came into thy life. 
Karl (placing a log on tire). 'Tis a long story 

And strange beyond belief. In our mid age 

The gracious God gave us our hearts' desire, 

A little child to sanctify our home — 

A flower of flowers, fresh-blown from paradise ! 

Joy grew with her, and in her sunny laughter 



UNDINE 17* 

We found a salve for every passing wound 

That Time or Fate could fashion or inflict. 

Yet she was dark as this dear maid is fair. 

One afternoon — ah, how I mind it well ! — 

My Martha met me coming thro' the wood, 

With streaming eyes and tear-befurrow'd cheeks, — 

'My God! where is the child?' I falter'd forth. 

'With Him on Whom thou callest,' sobb'd my wife. 

And for one long and agonizing hour 

We rock'd upon each other for support . . . 

That awful night of speechless misery! 

Huld. How chanced this grievous and most sudden loss? 

Karl. The day was sultry; the September haze 

Hung low and moist, blotting out field and fallow; 

So, to revive the child, grown llstlei-s from 

The close an curdled atmosphere within, 

My wife, noon past, had sought the water's edge. 

Where the first coolness comes and the faint breeze 

The longest tarries. There, as it did dabble 

Its little dimpled feet within the lake, 

Something beneath the glassy mirror took 

The child's bright fancy. 

A merry laugh, two tiny, outstretch'd hands, 

And all we loved had disappear'd for ever! 

Hiild. Didst find her body? 

Karl Never; tho' I search'd 

The shore for weeks : no trace of her was found. 
That evening we sat on — too sorely stricken 
For words, too numb'd for tears, but hand in hand. 
With dim eyes blear'd before the misty hearth. 
Towards dawn there came a rattling at the door: 
It open'd, and upon the threshold stood 
A little maid, some three or four years old. 
It seem'd as though a sunbeam had stolen in. 
So brighten'd all the room at her soft entry! 
Straight to my arms she flew : her golden locks 
Streaming with moisture, and her fair apparel 
All-verdured with sea-foam. . . . Her childlike story, 
Lisp'd in few words, held strange bewilderment: 
Little we glean'd, save that her name was Undine. 



18 UNDINE 

Huld. Her parents? Did they never ? 

[Kiihlehorn appears at the zvindow. Hidde- 
bran looks up apprehensively. 
Karl. Happily not : 

For they had robb'd us of our god-gift then. 
We made close search thro' all the country-side, 
But no one claim'd our treasure. 
Huld. How long ago 

Did all this happen? 
Karl. Let me call 't to mind : 

It must be now some fifteen summers past. 

[The storm, ivhich has been increasing in vio- 
lence during Karl's speech, noiv breaks 
zvith terrific force. The windozvs are 
burst in, and, by the light of the newly 
risen moon, a mighty stream is seen to be 
rushing past the cottage, carrying all be- 
fore it. Karl and Huldbrand stand for 
one moment aghast, then both rush out 
into the night, calling 'Undine — Undine!' 



Scene HI. — A forest by moonlight: driving clouds course rapidly 
over the moon, and partially obscure it. A stream in spate 
issues from the wood l, past great boulders, carrying with 
it the trunks of trees and other debris of the storm, and dis- 
appears to right of stage. The pines hozvl and crack beneath 
the lash of the wind, their tall spires bending, as if to min- 
gle with the rushing waters. 

Enter Huldebrand (left) 

Huld. Undine, dear Undine, whither art thou flown? 
O why did I not warn thee of the forest ! 
My tale half told, thou hadst not ventured here! 
Was ever such a night ! The warring winds 
Now pitilessly with the clouds contend; 
Yet how unequal the embattled strife ! 
The squadrons reel, the misted ranks give vva}' — 
rhcy break, they flee before the fierce oncomer ? 



UNDINE 19 

Like sheep they are driven across the bleared moon. 

Hark, how the giant pines do groan aghast! 

Like anger'd serpents hiss th' uncoiling waters. 

[Kiihleborn rises. 

There— there ! that face ! it tempts me to the tide. 

Hast thou engulf'd my love, thou tortuous hend, 

That with malignant smile thou beckonest 

Towards the champing flood ? I'll close with thee. 

[Leaps in. 

The torrent twines about my limbs — I fail! 

Ah, Undine ! 

[The moon shines out, and Undine is discov- 
ered on a small island near the further 
bank. 
Und. Peace, Kiihleborn ! Thou shalt not plague him further : 

Make not too strong a trial of his love! 
Kilhl. Ha, ha! he thought to mock me, foolish mortal! 

[Disappears. 
Und. Thou brave and gentle knight, strike out once more; 

The stream abates its fury. 
Huld. Undine, thy voice 

Comes to me faintly, as from some far shore: 

Let me but list that melody again! 
Und. O look about thee, dear deluded youth! 

Cling to this branch. At last, I have thee safe! 

[Seats Huldbrand besides herself 
Huld. Perils are light that bring me to thy side. 
Und. Thy love hath come thro' water for my sake: 

How will it fare thro' fire — thy passionate manhood? 

Thou wilt reject me for some new-found face? 

Men's hearts are easily kindled! 
Huld. May I die, 

That moment when I first prove false to thee! 
Und. Is it not early to declare thy love 

—Scarce one day old? What canst thou know of me? 
Huld. Oh, I have known thee all my life, Undine : 

'Twas thee I imaged in my boyish dreams; 

Thee I prefigured in my glowing manhood. 

And thro' precipitate pleasures kept me pure; 

I look into thine eyes— they are the eyes 



20 UNDINE ; 

Of mine own soul, seen as within a mirror; 

I listen to thy voice — it is the voice 

That whisper'd hope in moments of despair. 

Thou art my life! the lodestar of my being! — 
Und. A cold and distant light to match me by ! 

Come, my so ardent lover, answer this — 

When madest thou discovery of this star? 

Was't yestereve ? or at times less remote ? 
Huld. The dawn kindles — O kindle thou to me! 

Else must I sink beneath this load of love 

I carry at my breast. 
'Und. Not yet — not yet ; 

Thou art not made so frail, believe me, Sir! 

Thy story, first! for in this leafy bower 

Are none to cross or scold on slight occasion. 

Why cam'st thou thro' the forest? 
Hula.. Because I 

— I undertook a very foolish quest. 
Und. Ah! for a lady's favour? Thou art forsworn! 
Huld. Dear Undine, hear me out. 
Vnd. What more's to tell? 

Is't not enough that thou dost love another? 
Huld. I never loved — I never yearn'd — till now. 
Und. Yet thou didst undertake this quest for love? 
Huld. Say, rather, for adventure. Listen thou? — 

At Freiburg, not so many noontides since. 

Were held high jousts, with tiltings and like sports. 

And I, 'mongst other noble aspirants, 

Enter'd the lists, to prove my strength in tournay 

Upon the bravest there. But ever as 

T rested my foam'd steed anigh the barriers, 

My vizor raised to admit the welcome air, 

i just so often and so surely met 

The covert glance of one who scann'd me closely — 

A pale, sweet lady in the duke's pavilion. 

Each time her darkling eyes encounter'd mine, 

I felt the raying sunshine in my heart : 

Thus Fired, I spurr'd again into the conflict, 

!-^or the sheer joy a simple smile confer r'd. 

That night she was my partner in the dance, T 



UNDINE 21 

And I, who laugh'd at love as woman's pastime, 

Felt strangely that first fervour of the soul 

That moves a man in presence of a maid — 

That welling up of service infinite, 

To do her bidding now and evermore. 

[Undine fJings off the hand zvhich she had 
been holding. 
Und. And so. Sir Knight, thou never loved'st till now? 

(Rising) Thou shalt not trifle, thus, with me ! 
Huld. {drawing her hack) Stay, Undine! 

I could not so misuse thy pure affection. 
Und. (softly). It was thine own fault, Huldbrand; thou shouldst 

not have 

Encouraged her. 
Huld. This high-born lady was 

Too haughty to demean herself with love ; 

'Twas admiration only that she craved — 

The service of the lip, not of the heart — 

She would have dragg'd me at her chariot wheels. 

So I but graced her triumph — this Bertalda ! 

[Undine nestles to him. 
Und. Yet thou didst risk thy life to win her favour? 
Huld. I was elated — who would not have been? — 

Since she so signally exalted me 

Above her many gallants ; and, in sport, 

I begg'd of her a glove : she promised it 

On one condition — that I would adventure. 

Alone, this drear and unfrequented wood. 
Urid. Little she could have loved thee — that proud maid. 

To put thee to so perilous a journey. 

Why didst thou not refuse her vain request? 
Huld. An honour-loving knight could not withdraw ; 

My courage was in question. So she will'd it ! 

Yet it was Fate that led my footsteps hither. 

And now I thank Bertalda from my heart ; 

For was she not the means by which we met? 
Und. The means she was, but it was not her meaning 

That she should lose her knight by such a means. 

Dos't not feel pity for her? 



22 UNDINE 

Huld. If she had cared, 

I had indeed felt pity: for, of a truth, 

I could not lose thee now, Undine, and live. 
Und. Then, as thou lov'st me, O my love, remember 

Thou never must upbraid me on the water ! 

{Eerie and ominous music 

That moment's passion would be my undoing, 

Then were I lost to thee for evermore! 
Huld. How could I speak unkindly to thee, Undine, 

On land or water? Could I so wrong my soul? 
Und. Ah me, what is it to possess a soul? — 

We have no souls, unless we wed with mortals. — 

A soul must be a very precious thing. 

And yet — a perilous charge ! Oh, is it wise. 

Being happy in a blest unconsciousness 

Of this great spirit gift, this sense of Godhead, 

That seemeth to perplex and sadden men, 

To take upon myself terrestrial griefs, 

To probe the mysteries of life and death, 

To learn of good and evil, pain and sorrow, 

And that continual dimming of the. eye 

That speaks the wrung heart of humanity? 
Huld. All this thou wouldst endure, if thou didst love : 

Think of my life, without thee! 
Und. Listen, then : 

And tell me, O thou love-enamour'd knight , 

If thou wouldst bring this mortal doom upon me. 

[Sings. 
Undine's Song 

I 

Gay are we and without care ; 
Cheerly, blithely, forth we fare; 
Laugh we from the breaking wave, 
Chaunt we from the sirens' cave. 
II 

Corals, white as ocean foam. 
Guard the portals of our home ; 
Silver voices of the deep 
Lull us in our tranquil sleep. 



UNDINE 23 

III 

Wc, who live in twilight bowers, 
Heed no murmur of the hours; 
Pine not for new heavens, new earth — 
Life was given for joy and mirth! 

IV 

We are far too wise to scan 
What God meant when He made man; 
Quite content that He disposes 
Both the Summer and the roses. 

Huld. A happy and serene philosophy! 

Can man, soul-gifted, find on earth a better? 

Und. Stay! I would have thee love all that I love, 
And, first, th' all-fathering Ocean; for this Earth, 
So dear to thee, is but a foster-parent: 
Not so the waters — they first gave man birth. 

Huld. Our loves we'll hold in common— and our griefs 
By sharing them, will so be cut in twain. 

Und. True : 

Joys that are shared bring other joys to light, 
Griefs that are shared pass almost out of sight. 

Huld. Take thou this ring as earnest of my love. 

Und. And thou this jewel of the cloistral seas: 

May it remind thee, when thou look'st thereon , 
That love is deep and boundless as the ocean, 
.A.nd that like chiming seas are hearts that love. 

[They exchange nngs. 

Huld. Undine, my pledge upon thy lips— the sweetest 
That ever yet received love's passion'd imprint^. 

[They kiss 

Enter Karl (left) 

Karl. Hold— hold. Sir Knight! I thought thee a true man: 
Requit'st thou, thus, my hospitality? 
To take advantage of a simple girl 
Lacks chivalrv and wanteth much of honour! 



24 UNDINE 

Htild. Her honour is my honour, my good friend ; 

For see she is my true, affianced bride. 
Karl. Then haste, Undine, and bring thy lover over ; 

My benison awaits my maid's betrothal. 
Und. Thou wilt not scold or cross me any more? 
Karl. Ah, far from frequent have my scoldings been ! 
Too often have I spoilt thee for thy welfare. 
Else wert thou not so wayward and so wilful. 

[Undine leads the Knight across, and caresses 
Karl. 
Und. Thou art the most indulgent foster-father 

That ever maid was blest with. {To Huld.) Is he not? 
Huld. (shaking hands with Karl). I do believe him worthy of 

thy love. 
Karl. And mayst thou prove as worthy! that is all, 
And more than all, I wish for my sweet child. 

[Exeunt. 



UNDINE 25' 

Several months elapse betiveen Acts I. and II. 

ACT II 

Scene I. — Freiburg: a room in the Duke's Palace. 
Bertalda discovered weeping. 

Bert. I gaze and gaze upon that parching plain ; 

The very ground doth seem to pulse and quiver 

In a white shimmer and dance of liquid light. 

So fiercely glows that coruscating orb 

That, like a branding-iron held too close, 

It misteth all before me. My vision aches ; 

I search, and know full well I search in vain : 

The form I love I nevermore shall see. 

My Huldbrand cometh not — will never come ! 

How that dim forest knocks at my heart's door ! 

So loud its beat, I wish that I were dead. . . . 

Was't not enough to have him at my side, 

But I must make rash trial of his love! 

O cruel lips ; to send my love away, 

When my wrung heart petition'd him to stay. 

Enter Gertrud 

Gert. Sweet mistress, put aside this trenchant grief: 

Woes that we cannot mend need no such medicine 

As idle tears give. There's no second youth-time ! 

Feed not a hopeless passion with vain longing; 

Starve it — why soon it dies for want of thought ! 

'Tis in your will to do so. 
Bert. Heartless sophist! 

Come you to comfort me with words like these? 
Gert. A love that's dead, my lady, were best buried — 

Folded away in decent lavender 

Until Grief's harvesting is gather'd in. 

Bitter may be the reaping, but there follows 

An aftermath of pleasant memories. 



26 UNDINE 

Bert. I could not live without my thoughts of him — 

not one moment is he absent from them! 

1 cannot think of him as with the dead. 

Gert. There are worse things than death— life without love f 

Suppose he had lived — and come to love another, 

As men so often do? 
Bert. Gertrud, he could not— 

Not with such wealth of love as I had given him. 
Gert. Do not believe it! Men are changeable, 

And that which first did whet their appetite 

Not seldom palls when they grow surfeited : 

Some newer dainty then doth take their fancy ! 

They are all alike ! 
Bert. O class him not with other*-- 

If all were false, yet would he still be true. 
Gert. Dull not the present with a past regret! 

Unless you wish to exchange your golden youth 

For the sere and silver garniture of age. 

Oh, who would cling to visionary love, 

When Love, the Real, is storming at her threshold? 
Bert. Why will you plague me with these other loves? 

If he is dead, then wedlock I forswear : 

Such penance, as I can, I will perform; 

But never that ! 
Gert. Wedlock a penance ! la 

And with so kind a husband as Sir Gaucelm? 

Or, if your fancy listeth an Apollo, 

Where shall you find a manHer type of beauty 

Than bold Sir Belvedere? or, choose you wit 

And all the courtliness that comes of years. 

Sir Konrad would insure you happiness. 
Bert. The first — a mere poltroon, not worth a thought. 

Contemptible, if not beneath contempt ! 

The second — arrogant and overbearing. 

Too swollen with his own pretentiousness 

To apprize his wife much higher than his chattel. 

The third — I like not marriage with grey hairs : 

It is an outrage against Nature's law ! 

The young alone can consummate true marriage. 

The senile lion vaunts no lustv bride. 



UNDINE 27 

But in the desert turns his eye towards death, 

And why should man, because of wealth, fare better, 

Transmitting to a listless progeny 

The burden of his vitiated years? 
Gcrt. These three, at any rate, have leave to speak ; 

But there, you have the choice from out so many! 
Bert. What mean you — leave to pay me their addresses? 
Gcrt. This very morn. The Duke dislikes their suit. 

But looks to humble their high confidence 

Best at your hands. Quoth he, 'Bertalda's pride 

Will send them home again with sousing ears : 

They'll not attempt her twice.' 
Bert. Ha, ha, my fath^*- 

Hath a sweet eye for comedy ! 
Gcrt. Heart of mine. 

Deal not too harshly with them ! 

[Sir Gaucelm announce-J 
Bert. Hide you there. 

{Gertrude conceals herst 
behind arras. 
Gauc. Unparagon'd and most celestial lady, 

The Duke your father 

Bert. My adoptive father 

Gauc. The guardian of your honour and your hand 

Bert. Indeed ! methinks I can take care of both. 

Gauc. I speak in courtesy. 

Bert. Speak as you plea." 

Gert. (aside). She'll fluster him with her o'erwhelming scorn 

Gauc. You deem my love presumptuous, out of place ; 

Yet this continual clamour at my heart 

Emboldens me to speak. Then hear me, lady ! 

And, if you cannot countenance my suit. 

But doom me to a bottomless despair, 

At least show pity. 
Bert. A cheap commodity ! 

Freely bestow'd on those whom we despise. 
Gauc. Despise me not, till you have put to the proof 

My love for you. 



28 UNDINE 

^^^^ A fair request, Sir Gaucelm • 

And one that I most readily accede to. 

You heard the wager that I gave Sir Huldbrand; 

You know that I have lost— a valued friend. 
Cert (aside). Ah, now she comes to the matter next her heart. 
Bert. Find him; and my respect and gratitude 

Are yours to claim. 
Q^^j^(. Your gratitude and respect ?- 

Commensurate reward for one who sets 

His life upon the hazard! 
Gert. (aside) A spiritless gibe! 

Bert. Fie, fie, Sir Knight! you are reputed brave— 

What if I put your valour to the test? 

And not your valour only, but — your love 

For me? 
Gauc. And you — you ofifer, in exchange, 

Respect and gratitude? 
Bert. And what else may follow : 

Respect is the true corner-stone of love. 

And gratitude hath often turn'd the scales 

When a maid's heart is in the balance. Come now? 
Gert. (aside). How cleverly she brings him to the fence! 

But he'll refuse: he pricks not up his ears. 
Gauc. You speak in riddles. 

Bert. Could I speak much plainer. " 

Gauc. So, then, you'd have me undertake this quest 

For the mere chance of love? 
Bert. Nay more, Sir Gaucelm : 

If you will dare all that Sir Huldbrand dared, 

I'll not reject your suit. (Aside) I venture little! 
Gert. (aside). A rash discharge, but the arrow cleaves the gold! 
Gauc. (going). An idle dare-devil! a contemptuous fellow! 

I came not here to emulate his feats. 
Bert. Next time you go a-wooing, good Sir Gaucelm, 

Assume not the brave front and frown of Mars : 
. O lay aside those blazonments of war ! 

The pigeon-liver'd have no need of swords. 

Like women, they engage best with their tongues. 
Gaur. 'Sdeath ! 'Sdeath ! but I'll be avenged on you for thi'^. 

lExif. 



UNDINE 29 

Bert. O said I not he was a mere poltroon? 

Gert. That's proven: but soft, here comes Sir Belvedere. 

[Retire: 

Enter Sir Belvedere 
Belv. Lady, my faith and sword are at your service : 

Methinks they may bestead you: for Sir Gaucelm 

But just now pass'd me, puffing windy scorn 

Beneath an ugly lip : he's bent on mischief, 

As surely as a charger means to kick 

When's ears go back. 'Ware heels, my lady, 'ware heels! 
Bert. When I require your service, I will ask it: 

Sir Gaucelm's sword is worn for ornament 

And not for use. 
Qgly Ha! ha! I fear'd not lli.it. 

But the thrust that comes unseen— the stab i' the back 

Is much more to his liking. 
Gert. (aside) Damn your rivnl-. 

And so dance into favour! 'Tis the way 

Of the world! 
ggj^t Which deem you, Sir, the deadiM-i- 

The stab of the stiletto or the tongue? 

Savours your warning not of jealousy? 
Belv. Jealous of him ! Respect for your discernment 

And my high confidence alike forbid me 

To underrate myself with such a rival. 

Jealous of others, of a truth, I am : 

Since every glance directed at your beauty 

Is a dagger at my heart. I cannot abide 

The lawless look that searcheth a response 
* From your pure eyes: it maddens to distraction. 
Bert. Methinks. too soon, you claim seigncurial rights. 

To set a fortalice about this face. 

With spies and sentinels at every watch-tower. 

The best of women love to be admired ! 
Belv. My love for you burns with so fierce a flame, 

Like smoke I am whirl'd upon the winds of passion : 
I cannot spare a look, a smile, a sigh : 

I'd have vou wholly mine. 



30 UNDINE 

Bert. And, having won mc, 

You'd rate me little higher than your horse ! 

Possibly lower, after the first bloom 

And burgeoning of marriage had worn off. 

Follows the day when you would find me restive ; 

The lash would be your method of subjection — 

I should be ridden ever on the curb. 

Truly, a pleasing prospect ! 
Beh. It is false! 

You speak of one who is a ruthless tyrant. 
Bert. I merely hold the mirror to your face — 

You do not like the picture? Why, then, should I? 
Gert. (aside). He stands as shrunken as some well-Vv'orn beauty. 

Stripp'd for the night of all her bravery ! 
Belv. You mean, then, to insult me? 
Bert. Oh, far from it ! 

But, if the world contain'd one man alone. 

And you that man, I would not marry you. 
Belv. My passion spurn'd ! Myself held up to scorn ! 

Truly your tongue foretold the fitting means 

To hold you in subjection! The serpent's tooth 

Is not more venom'd than those fangs of yours : 

They were best drawn ! 
Bert. So men, like you, go free ! 

Take comfort in the thought that you can whip 

A poor dumb beast that cannot answer you. 

But me you cannot ! 
Belv. (aside). My lady, I have a whip 

That shall yet lower your crested insolence. 

[Exit Sir Belvederf. 
Gert. My dear, how shall we ever marry you ! 

[Sir Konrad announced. 

Speak softly to the good old knight. 
Bert. He shall 

Have glossing words, as best befitteth him. 

[Gcrtrud retires. 
Enter Sir Konrad 
Kon. Lady, 

I came to pay my court—but find that Sorrow 

Hath even now forestall'd me in my suit : 



UNDINE 31 

Seme trouble holds 3'Ou ? O that my sun of love 

Might dissipate the clouds about your brow ! 

And yet how precious is the pearly mist 

That veils from me the splendour of your face ! 

Look up — Ah, now it brightens ; and the glow 

Suffuseth this old heart with happiness. 
Bert, (softening). Ah me! Sir Konrad — what have / to bestow? 

The fount of love is seal'd within my breast; 

I have no heart, no pity, no compassion 

For all the suffering that I see around me ; 

And for the joy, the human earthly joy — 

The linked lips of lovers, and the eyes 

That smile and shine defiance at the world — 

I hate them! for their happiness I know not: 

They tantalize me with the gleam of hope, 

And hope is sunk beneath that far horizon : 

No vernal sun shall bring the brightness back. 

I may not look upon the face of love. 

That countenance is veil'd to me forever. 

There is no healing for the wounded spirit 

But the deep waters washing to oblivion ! 
Kon. Lady, tho' now you deem your gentle soul 

[Takes her hand. 

Callous to others' grief, 'tis only transient : 

Your spirit's action is awhile suspended, 

Numb'd by the sudden impact of the blow 

That misted all the field of your true vision. 

Yet Time, that softens even the fire-fused rock. 

Will melt the stony chasms of your heart. 

And o'er the void shall richer blossoms spring. 

Light permeates all ! and in its healthful beams 

You shall not count your loss irreparable. 
Bert. No sun can ever ease me of my loss. 

No time assuage. 
Kon. You will rise stronger for it : 

In passion's furnace are we moulded all, 

'Tis there our characters are form'd and frank'd 

True coin or false, true gold or counterfeit; 

For both are issued from the mint of Nature. 

I loved Sir Huldbrand — could I have loved him moTc. 



Z2 UNDINE 

If he had been my son? — I had rejoiced 

To see you two affianced to each other; 

And, in your joy, I had found consolation 

For my so narrow'd and uncrowned life. 

I ne'er can take his place within your heart 

[Bertalda weeps. 
Gert. {aside). O there is wisdom in an old man's wooing! 
Kon. You must not shame the greatness of his soul 

By unavailing tears. 
Bert. Oh, 'tis my shame. 

My lasting shame ! / sent him to his death. 

'Tis that that weighs like lead upon my heart; 

Tho' one so brave as Huldbrand had absolved me. 

Enter Huldbrand, leading Undine by the hand 

Huld. You are absolved forthwith : your mandate proved 

Richer in quest than maiden hopes had vision'd. 

For see I bring you from the forest depths 

This flawless flower. Let me unite your hands, 

As prelude to the union of your hearts ; 

For I would have you love as sisters love. 
Bert. And may I ask who is this winsome lady, 

That you would wake in me a sister's longing? 
Hnld. My wife— Undine. 
Bert. Your wife ! This is most strange : 

I never heard — the news — of your betrothal. 
Kon. (aside to Bertalda). Master yourself! O never let him 
peer 

Into your inmost heart! 

Hnld. Bertalda— I 

Bert. Ah, yes — 

I might have known good tidings travel slowly : 

'Tis ill news flies apace. 
Kon. (aside to Bertalda). That's bravely spoken. 

Bert, (embracing Undine). I never had a sister — had I known 
one. 

As sweet and pure and trustful as yourself, 

How very different might my life have been ! 



UNDINE * 33 

Vnd. I, too, have never known a sister's love, 

Tho' ever-present the wish. But now, Bertalda, 

I can indulge my heart in this new joy. 
Bert. Undine, your loving words relume my life: 

Hope blossoms in your smile. Come, for you will 

Have much to tell that I do long to hear. 

I leave Sir Huldbrand to your care, Sir Konrad. 

{Exeunt Bertalda and Undine. 
Hiild. {gazing rapturously after Undine). 

As maid — thou never saw'st a child more wilful, 

As wife — there lives not one so sweet and true. 

She dims the pearl in purity and lustre. 

And robs the moon of beauty, she being by! 
Kon. Has Love, the mighty fashioner of poets, 

In his fierce crucible fused your strong soul? 

You must relate how you came by your bride. 
Huld. Gladly will I, Sir Konrad — tho' my story 

Is for the open air. 
Kon. Precede me. 

[Exeunt Sir Huldbrand and Sir Konrad. 
Gert. Well— well, 

Was ever such a topsy-turvy world! 

The one flies love, and finds it in the forest; 

The other pours libations to the Gods 

For his so safe return, and when she sees him, 

Spills the warm wine of life upon the ground, 

To wean herself on sisterly affection ! 

I wonder how she'll thrive on that thin juice ! 

I trust them not — these sudden loves of women. 

That mushroom-like spring up within a night, 

Only to wither on a palsied stalk 

At the first rude shock of winter. Well — Time proves all! 

[Exit. 



34 • UNDINE 

Scene II. — The same. The palace grounds illuminated: a foun- 
tain playing at left center. Bertalda and Huldhrand are seen 
conversing in an arbour up stage. 

Enter Sir Gaucelm and Sir Belvedere 

Gauc. A week ago she spurn'd me with her foot 

As tho' I were a worm. 
Beh. Vex not yourself; 

We are all worms to her ungovern'd pride : 

We must find means to lower it. There's not one 

So firml}^ set, so safel}^ pinnacled, 

Whose tower'd strength may not be undermined 

By an insidious and determined foe. 

And her foundations are not too secure I 

[Kiihleborn rises from fountain, ivith menac- 
ing gesture towards Bertalda. He then 
sinks into concealment behind the zuater- 
lilies. 
Gauc. Ha ! Rumour has not left her unassail'd — 

A foundling, is she not? 
Belv. Foundling or no,. 

I mean to track her to her parent source. 

Her airs, her scorn, her contumelious pride. 

That overlooks those less indulged of fortune, 

Denote no patent of nobility ! 

E'en tho' she deem herself a prince's daughter. 
Gauc. Belike she thinks it, hence the high disdain 

With which she flung me, *my adoptive father.' 
Belv. Soft! Mark you them — tempting the Tempter's might? 

The moth ne'er hover'd round the taper's brim 

Like she about that boy's face. Curse them both ! 

{Kiihlborn steps out of fountain, and ap~ 
proaches them in the guise of an old beg- 
gar man. 
Gauc. Draw we within the shadow of the fountain, 

Where we may watch them, unobserved. (Perceiving KiiJil.} 

Old Rags, 

How got you past the gates? I've half a mind 

To toss you in the fountain. 'Twill rinse you, dog? 

And teach you not to intrude upon your betters. 



UNDINE 35 

Kiihl (aside). Toss me to mine own element! Ha! ha! ha! 
Gauc. Why laugh 3-011? but I'll turn that laugh awry. 

Zounds ! but the man's all slime : I'm slaver'd o'er 

As tho' I'd roll'd on a fish-heap. Off with you, filth! 
Kiihl Scorn none ! the meanest may have much to teach you. 
Bclv. Let be, Sir Gaucelm : the fellow speaketh fair. 

Now come, my man, wherefore these vile contortions? 
Kiihl. Observe the minx! Well, let her trail her snares: 

I have my price, and I have that to sell 

Would set you gallants dancing to the fiddle 

From now until his orient majesty 

Peep'd on your unpress'd pillows. 
Bclv. How know you this? 

Kiihl. I have ears — and hearing is a practised art 

Amongst my confraternity : it buys bread. 
Belv. You, then, have play'd the spy upon us here? 
Kiihl: I spied a meal — and when I heard your speech, 

I spied a dozen meals. Nay, now my hunger grows : 

Such news as I possess should satisfy 

My natural appetite, my corporeal wants, 

With just enough of sack to dream my dreams. 

Till my poor light is quench' d. 
Gauc. I'll quench it straightway 

You spying cur ! 
Bclv. (restraining Sir Gaucelm). Nay, nay; let's draw him 

further. 
Kiihl. Oh, I can play the spy as well as you. 

And to more purpose ! Your honours fain would know 

The parentage of that dark-eyed enchantress? 

Belike her feline fingers have left scars 

Where wounds heal slowly? 

Bclv. Come to the point, rogue, or- 

Kiihl. Then, for that reason, you would humble her? 

Gauc. Aye, that we would. 

Kiihl. If I, then, — at a price — 

Can prove she is of lowly origin — 

Can — so to make the bargain square — produce 

Her parents, you will pay me well? 

[Bertalda and Huldbrand stroll down stage 



36 UNDINE 

Belv. (giving him purse). There's for you. 

And more anon — the eastern gate at midnight. 

[Exit Kilhleborn. 
Gauc. He hath a briny smell. If he speaks truth, 

We'll not have long to wait for our revenge. 

[Exeunt Sir Gaucelm and Sir Belvedere 
Huld. Why slink these two away with such ill grace? 

Their brows do lower upon us as they go. 
Bert. They're envious of your double fortune, Huldbrand. 
Huld. How double? 
Bert. Solve it upon your pillow — when j-ou dream 

Of Undine. 
Huld. Ah yes, fortune has favour'd me 

Doubly, aye trebly, in her perfect love. 
Bert. H perfect, were it not immeasurable? 

Not doubling this, nor trebling that? Oh, I, 

If I should ever give my heart in love. 

Would deem the bounds of space too close, too narrow 

Environment for my enlarged soul : 

It would soar out into infinity ! 
Huld. {taking her hands). And, when you love, what can I 

wish you more 

Than just so great a happiness as mine? 
Bert. Th' invariable wish of those new-wedded ! 

I'll value it the more, if you can say it 

A year hence with the fervour of to-day. 

Enter Sir Konrad and Undine. 
Kan. I bring you back your wife, Sir Huldbrand : she 

Has entertain'd me with such glowing tales 

Of radiant nymphs that dwell beneath the ocean, 

That, if Bertalda still proves unrelenting, 

'Tis there I'll seek my future bride. 
Bert. Sir Konrad. 

I wonder that your choice still favours mc, 

After such kindling visions ? 
Kon. The first always ! 

Much as I fear thou'rt unattainable. 

[Kiihlehorn rises from fountain. 
Kiihl. (aside to Undine). Beware Bertalda! 



UNDINE 37 

Unci, {aside to Kiihlcborn) . Trouble not my peace! 

[Kuhlcborn disappears. 
Bert, {approaching Undine). What do the water-lilies say to 

you? 
Und. O, Nature's myriad voices breathe one word — 
So soft it falls that thousands scarcely heed it! 
The mystic word that fills the world with song. 
The swallows chirp it on my window-sill ; 
The flowers can speak naught else ; and the tall reed-grass 
On that one flute-like stop sways to the stream ; 
The pines just whisper it; the silver poplar 
Sighs out her soul with it the livelong day. 
O what a chorus is there in the woods, 
From the soft ringdove's coo to the wild thrush's 
More stormy wooing! — unutterable longing 
In every note of his o'erburden'd breast ! 
Bert. Undine, your sweet bride-face is all aglow. 

Who knows but that your lips may hre me also? 

[Kissing her. 
Ki'thl. {aside). Let this. then, quench it! Ha! ha! he! he! he! 
[Drenches Bertalda, and then sinks into con- 
cealment. 
Bert Who was't that laugh'd? 

Huld. Bertalda! How came this? 

Bert. The fountain ! 
Und. {aside to Kiihlcborn) . Kiihleborn this is ill service! 

[Kiihleborn disappears. 
Huld. Zounds, you are drench'd ! Come, you must doff these 
garments. 
(Going) Ha! Kiihlcborn's hand in this! 

[Exeunt Bertalda and Huldbrand. 
Kon. There is no wind : 

It is most strange that it should spirtle forth 

With -such fell fury! Almost I could believe 

Und. Had we not best attend upon Bertalda? 

[Exeunt Undine and Sir Konrad 
Re-enter Sir Gaucehn and Sir Belvedere 
Gauc. How to abase her — that's th' immediate question — 
And without fear of failure! We must not miss 
One link i' the chain of evidence. My brain 



38 UNDINE 



Whirls at the task that we have set ourselves. ; 

Like to a captive tigress, in her wrath, i 

Her glittering eyes still fascinate; and her snarl I 

Inspires as live respect, as quick resource, ] 

As that low sound, deep-throated in its terror, 

Which awes the jungle to its inmost depths. : 

Hate clouds my reason, when clear-thinking is 

Imperative to our design. I 

Belv. Leave that to me : i 

This banquet, given in honour of Bertalda, .j 

Will furnish forth the opportunity. '\ 

Her Birthday feast ! Well, we will season it ' 

With seasonable thoughts — what more harmonious i 

Than the sweet hark-back to her cradling years ? j 

Gauc. Ha! there we hit her. ' 

[Clock trikes twelve. { 

Belv. Once ! twice ! J 

Gauc. O let her have j 

The round o' the clock — a lash for every stroke ! : 

Belv. That last note tolls the knell of her curst pride. 

Come, we must keep our tryst. (Going) But three days ' 

more, I 

.A.nd then — Bertalda, then ! 1 

[Exeunt. , 



UNDINE 39 

Scene III.— The same. The Banqueting Hall of the Palace: 
large oak doors at the back r., leading to outer hall; tapestry 
curtains screening arches to right and left front. The table, 
■which is in a recess to left back, is sumptuously furnished; 
the windows beyond it are open, showing glimpses of the 
country. On a raised dais r. are displayed Bertalda's birthday 
gifts. Bertalda is seated at the head of the table, with Huld- 
brand and Undine on either side of her. The Duke is at the 
centre, and amongst the guests are dhe Duchess, Sir Konrad, 
Sir Belvedere and Sir Gaucelm. As the curtain rises, at- 
tendants are seen bringing in fruit and wine. 

Duke. My noble guests, two toasts I'd have you pledge- 
First, our fair bride and bridegroom. I must confess 
This marriage fell against my expectation: 
Methought our Huldbrand was invulnerable 
To beauty's shafts; but when I look upon 
The delicate sweet lady of his choice, 
I am constrain'd to think no mortal armour 
Could have avail'd our friend. She seems, indeed. 
The veritable princess we have read of 
In our flush youth, enchanting all beholders; 
And he — Prince Fortunatus! May God give them 
Ever increasing joy of one another! 

[Their healths are drunk zvith acclamation. 
Fling wide the doors. It is an old-time custom 
That all should share our joy on such occasions. 
No richer harvest reaps the human heart 
Than in the goodwill of our fellow-men. 
Enter citizens; amongsi them are Karl and his w'ife, zvith Kiihle- 
born, in long, white, flowing beard, disguised as a minstrel. 
Wine and cakes are served to all. 
You're welcome all. This time I raise the chalice 
To my dear child. Friends, when our great All-Father 
Sprinkled the earth with flowers, He gave us that 
Which should enamel and enrich our meads; 
But children are the flowers that He hath given 
To beautify our homes. And so it seems. 
Each year that I have watch'd this tender plant 
First strike its graceful shoots, then burst in bloom. 
The full, rich bloom of perfect w^omanhood, 



40 UNDINE 

I have been privileged exceedingly; 

Nor can I count the sum of all the joy. 

The fragrance she has brought into my life. 

I drink to you, my child! 

And may the purple grape within this goblet 

Bear health, grace, and abiding happiness, 

In sun and shower, to you, my rose of roses! 

Pass blithely round the bowl, and all make merry. 

[Her health is drunk amid cries of 'Thr 

Lady Bertalda.' 
{Perceiving Kilhlchorn) A minstrel!— who more welcome! 

Reverend, sir. 
We call upon you to add grace to mirth; 
In midmost joy, chasten and thrall us with 
The tender pathos of the old folk-songs. 

[Undine recognises her foster-parents, and sits 

near them whilst Kiihleborn sings to the 

harp. 

Song 

I 

Fishman, tisherman, why do you weep, 
Hauling your nets 'neath the moon? 

Silvery shadows steal over the deep, 
And the billows are all aswoon. 

II 

There is that in your face, my sweet mermaid. 

Which recalleth a long-lost child; 
Far down in the deep is my darling laid. 

Whom the glittering mere beguiled. 

Ill 

O better the waters should fold and keep 

Your little one in her shroud, 
Than ever you famish'd eyes should weep 
A heart grown cold and proud! 



• UNDINE 4a 

IV 

If, but for a moment, she might draw near — 
Should I find her heart grown cold? 

She would rush to my arms, my joyous dear, 
And greet me as of old. 

V 

O vain is the love of all mortal kind! 

And vain are the tears you shed! 
Ere you pale sickle wane, you will wish you were blind 
Or else that your child were dead. 

[Martha weeps. 

Karl. Control your grief, bear bravely up awhile, 
We must not mar our kind host's entertainment. 

Duke. It hath set quivering some long-silent chord — 
Lost you a child in that way? 

Karl. We are deeply moved; 

We crave your pardon, my lord. The song recall'd 
A grief that we could never put in words, 
That, therefore, lay the heavier on our hearts. 
Some years ago we lost a little maid — 
As dark maybe as that fair lady yonder, 
And with a smile — O, not unlike to hers — 
In just such a way! The song hath touch'd us home, 
So nearly doth it fit our history. 

Bclv. The song foreshadows an impending doom, 

'Ere yon pale sickle wane, you will wish you were blind 

Or else that your child were dead.' 
{To Karl) Hast a presentiment of trouble — coming? 

Karl. The very air seems charged with mystery. 
I am compell'd, against my conscious self. 
To strive to grasp a truth that still eludes me. 
These many years I have believed her dead. 
Now feel I here (striking his breast) she lives ! the veil is 

lifting: 
As thro' a mist I do behold my lost one — 
Her smile that I should know amid a million — 
Her smile — dear God, the darkness falls away: 
Light, light, at last, in fulness everywhere! 
There, at the table-head, sits my lost child! 
My hunger'd heart acclaims 

Kan. The man is mad! 



42 UNDINE 

Karl, (to Bertalda). Let none, my child, dispart us! 

Duke. Hold — forbear I 

How man}' years ago lost you your daughter? 
Bert. Father, why question him? Put him out of doors. 

'Twill eool his wits — the wine has heated them. 
Duke. Patience, my child. 

Korl, God ! can she so receive me ? 

Duke- Answer my question. 
Karl. It doth need no answer. 

T care not to claim kinship, since my. daughter 

Despiseth me already in her heart. 
Duke. First, prove she is your daughter. 

Karl. That I cannot. 

Kon. Out with him ; the old man is an impostor. 

[Some of the guests lay hands on him, and 
hustle him tozvards the door. 
Karl. I little thought that I should rue the day 

That gave her to my sight. These eyes are failing — 

Ah, I could wish the night had gather'd in 

Ere I should look on such a thankless child ! 
Belv. The old seer's prophecy ! 

Gauc. A strange fulfilment ! 

Duke. Gently, my friends, gently; he shall have justice. 

{To Karl) You cannot prove 't? — on what, then, do you base 

Your claim? 
Mart. Ah, but / can ; and humble her 

I will — tho' you are welcome to the shrew! 

These breasts that .suckled her are not mistaken! 

These eyes that cherish'd her have not forgotten! 

What proof would you? Shall I retail her birthmarks? — 

Those signs which once I look'd upon as blessings, 

Tho' now I deem them but the curse of Cain, 

Who slew his brother : she would slay her father 

With her death-dealing tongue. 
Duke. Enough — enough \ 

Let all those here, who are not of our party. 

Retire. (To Karl) Remain you and your wife, also 

The aged minstrel whose prophetic sight 

Hath forced this issue. 

[Exeunt citlccns. 
Now, good dame, your proof? 

Touching these birth-marks — what have vou to sav? 



UNDINE 43 

Bert. Why dost thou shame me thus before my friends? 
Duke. Truth must prevail, however harsh to hear ! 

No shame to you, unless you shame yourself! 

Honour your parents is an old injunction: 

Observe it now — by silence. 
Adart. One upon 

Her left instep, shaped like a violet; 

The second lise between her shoulder-blades, 

Bearing the imprint of the self-same flower. 

If she will only come with me a moment 

Bert. I, to unrobe myself before a peasant! 

Canst thou, my father, countenance such insult? 

Oh, it speaks volumes — thy impassive silence! 

This 'tender plant,' that thou so hardly rear'dst, 

Is of a sudden to be bruised and blighted 

By the rude wind of a dull peasant's wit! 

This 'graceful flower,' that Drought such 'joy and fra- 
grance' 

Into thy life, is to be hustled forth 

To meet the glaring rays of the harsh sun, . 

The vulgar sun of vile publicity! 

Look round thee! note the almost fiendish joy, 

Unmask'd, exultant, yonder. Need I name them? 

Unmanly glee at my discomfiture 

Leers from each craven face. 
Gauc. and Belv. 'Tis false I 

Bert. O sirs, 

I wish you joy of your conspiracy 

To rob a maiden of her name and honour! 

So belted knights can stoop to bribery! 

And snow-white hairs serve as a cloak for fraud! 

[Exit Bertalda. 

Duke {to Duchess). Go you to her — she will unrobe to you — 
And send us swift assurance. God forbid 
That I should stand between this aged couple 
And — their child! 

Duch. Would that they had never come ! 

These many years have they believed her dead : 
Better they should have thought so to the end! 

[Exit Duchess. 



44 UNDINE 

Huld. My lord, 

This matter of the birth-marks proveth nothing:. 

The merest gossip of her chamber-maid 

Might have convey'd so much. 'Twill not establish 

Their poignant claim to her paternity, 

Deeply as their indubitable loss 
* Hath stirr'd the fount of pity in us all. 

Yet, as to the good-faith of these old people — 

What needs my testimony to their worth. 

Who rear'd, in fear and love of the Most High, 

This gracious lady, now my honour'd wife? 

I am convinced no bribe could influence them: 

Rightly, or wrongly, they believe the maid 

Is theirs. 

Enter Maid 
D.uke. What says your mistress? 
Maid. They have spoken 

Truth. 
Karl. What else should we speak? 
Maid. My lady says. 

'Such knowledge might be secretly obtain'd. 

And publicly abused.' 
Duke. Go, tell your mistress 

I shall not yield her up till all is proven. 
Kiihl. The proof you lack, my lord, myself can furnish : 

You recognise this chain? 'twas that you gave me 

The day I found her by the water-flags 

And to your charge resigned her. The little maid 

Had perish'd else, for how could / have rear'd 

So frail a thing? Years afterwards I learnt 

The story of her birth and disappearance 

Duke. And you disclose it noiuf 

Kiihl. Sire, I forebore 

To press a truth that had brought pain to all. 

These honest folk were happy in the child 

They had adopted; you were happy, too. 

Tn fostering the love of this fair maid: 

This two-fold peace I could not, then, disturb. 

But times are changed ; and since the truth must out. 

Your foster-daughter is that old man's child. 
Enter Attendant (breathless) 



UNDINE 45 

Attend. The Lady Bertalda, my lord 

Duke. What of her? 

Attend. Has fled the palace — nowhere can be found. 
Duke. My troubles thicken. Friends, I bid you leave me : 
But you — await me here. 

[Motions Karl, Martha, and Kuhleborn to 
room r. Guests retire. Huldbrand and 
Undine remain. 

{To Attendant) Summon the guard. 
[Exit Attendant. 
God send me never such a day as this! 
Huld. Can I not be of service? 

Duke. No, my friend ; 

Within this hour I'll have her safe again, 
Unless — O God, if her high pride could forge 
Weapons against herself! 
Und. O, never that! 

She is incensed, but she will not forget 
Your fostering care, even in her darkest hour. 
Huld. She will return, when reason conquers passion. 
Duke. Is there on earth solicitude so deep, 
Grief so importunate, as that we feel 
When threaten'd with the loss of one we love? 
How a child can wring the heart ! My poor Bertalda ! 

[Exit Duke. 
Enter Attendant 
Attend. Your equipage. Sir Huldbrand. 

Huld. Let it wait. 

Attend. Pardon, Sir Huldbrand; a tall fisher maid 

Begs speech of you — will noways be denied. 
Huld. Where is she? 

Attend. In the vestibule. 

Huld. I will 

Attend her there. (To Undine) One moment, sweet! 



Perchance 
I may glean somewhat of this mystery. 



[Exit Attendant. 
[Exit Huldbrand. 



Und. Bertalda— daughter of the fisherman? 

This is some vengeful trick of Kuhleborn's! 
His spite against her is most manifest. 



46 UNDINE 

Why 't should be so — passes my wit, unless 
He's jealous of the love that I do bear her. 

And yet, how strangely doth his tale accord 

With that the dear old people used to tell 

In those long winter evenings on the island! 

Re-enter Huldhrand, leading Bertalda disguised as a 
fisher-girl 
Bert. Thou'lt not betray me? 
Huld. Only to my wife. 

Undine, you can preserve a secret? 
Und. Surely : 

Tho' when had fisher-maid such tell-tale feet? 

[Embracing Bertalda. 
Bert. Yet am I, verily, what now thou look'st on — 

A fisher-maid, whom faithless fortune fondled. 

The past is past; and all its foolish dreams 

Are beggar'd by the close reality 

Of what I am! 
Und. You're nothing but yourself — 

How can you think so meanly of our love? 
Bert. One last farewell — then swiftly break, my heart ! 

My life is over! Over me the sea 

She chant such requiem as best befits 

My lowly birth. Oh, how I long to drown 

The bitter memory, the degradation, 

In those cool waters where at last is peace 

For hearts too fever'd and for souls too frail! 
Und. There, sob your grief out on this breast. The Duke 

Will not too lightly part with you, Bertalda; 

You are very dear to him. 
Bert. Never again 

Will I set foot across his threshold! 
Und. Then 

Return with these old people: they will forgive 

Your petulance. 
Bert. O well thou judgest me ! 

Who, in my place, had not shown petulance? 

Doth one court poverty with pleasure? or 

Rear'd as a bride for princes, rush elate 

Into the arms of menials? 



UNDINE 47 

Und. Why, no : 

Still miglit you with less hauteur have received 

Their humble suit. If they are not your parents, 

It had become you better; if they are, 

You have done great wrong — to them and to yourself. 
Bert. Thou, too, my enemy? Go, join with those 

Who have brought me to this pass ! 
Und. Belov'd Bertalda, 

Believe me never was I more your friend; 

But, as your friend, I would preserve you from 

Bert. Myself — is't that thou'dst say? Ah me, my friends 

Are Summer friends, flown with the Summer's sweets! 

This noon I had a many, now not one! 

Who shall convince me after this — of friendship? 
Und. O doubt not mine, Bertalda! . . . List! To-night 

We make the first stage in our homeward journey. 

Come with us to our Castle of Ringstetten. 

There shall you live at peace, there prove our friendship; 

There learn the sweet delights — not to be found 

r the courts of princes, where falsehood and intrigue 

Disgust and disillusion all true hearts. 

My mantle, Huldbrand! to protect her from 

The prying gaze of all-too-curious eyes. 

[Exit Huldehrand 
Bert. How can I thank thee. Undine? Shall I not 

Intrude upon your happiness — your home-life? 
Und. As sisters, have we not already pledged 

Our loves? how, then, could you intrude? (Taking her hand) 
So come ! 

And in our dear home-life you will forget 

This bitterness that wars against your spirit. 
Bert. Was ever sister half so sweet as thou? 

The debt thou layest on my soul this day, 

How shall T e'er find measure to repay? 

[The curtain falls as they embrace 



UNDINE 49 



ACT III 



Scene I. — The Spring of another year. The courtyard of the 
Castle of Ringstetten, with octagonal fountain in the fore- 
ground. To right a cloistered walk, with gothic archway 
leading to terraces beyond. Above the cloisters a beautiful 
rolling country is disclosed. As the curtain rises, a nuppber 
of serving-men are seen leisurely hauling a large stone into 
position before the fountain. 

1 Serv. Ay, it be a cumbersome house wi' two mistresses. 

2 Serv. The Book says one mayn't serve two masters, but npwt 

a word about two mistresses ! 

1 Serv. It reckon'd one should know that, wi'out telhng : womei^ 

are alius more difficult to serve than men— they're aye con- 

trarious, 
v5 Serv. Thou'rt right, mate, contarious be the word. Now t' 
fair lady cannot abide to have the fountain open— folks 
say as an evil spirit lurks i' its depths, for there be times 
when the waters do froth and bubble wi' strange f^ry. 

But t' dark lady as roundly avers that there is no spirit- 
leastways no evil spirit — and vows that the waters are 
healing waters, and a powerful medicine agin sun-spots, 
freckles, moles an' all such-like blots and blemishes. 

2 Serv. So we be a-sealing and unsealing of the fountain as fair 

lady or dark lady be favourite! 

3 Serv. Gossip do say as he keeps to' fair lady for holy days, 

an' t' other for days that be not holy. 
2 Serv. Ha, ha! so t' other has t' best o' t' bargain! 

1 Serv. He be a sorry fool, and a mean fool, who allows his 

wife to be disrated and dishonoured in his own house. I 
say a't be agin his own dignity. 

4 Serv. Dignity! 

Illicit dalliance knows no dignity! 

2 Serv. The wife's to blame : she is too gentle with him. 
4 Serv. The more shame he, to take advantage of her! 

Never a sweeter lady walk'd this earth, 
Never a truer — look ye, where she comes. 
Enter Undine 



50 UNDINE 

Und. Not finish'd yet? The well should have been closed 
An hour ago. It is not to your credit 
To loiter over such a trivial task. 

4 Serv. The stone is weighty, lady. 

Und. Not weightier than your tongues f 

'Tis they methinks have proved your heaviest hindrance. 
r faith, you tire yourselves! Why, women and sparrows 
Are quite outgossip'd here ! (Aside) Embarrassment 
Sits plain on each; they look on me with pity — 
Pity from serving-men ! O Huldhrand, Huldbrand ! 

4 Serv. Heave all together, lads ! Steady now, steady ! 
There she sits plumb and fast. 

2 Serv. Fast-sure indeed : why. 

The Deil himself might not remove our labour! 

Und. Hand me that implement. Now you may go. 

[Exeunt serznng'men 
(Writing on stone) These hieroglyphics none but he may 

read 
Who is the Lord o' the fountain. Kiihleborn, 
I do command you by the love you bear me 
Never to raise this stone. Withdraw in peace' 
The Danube is your tributary: leave me 
My home. 

Enter from arehway Bertalda and Huldbrand 

Bertalda, singing to guitar — 

What word wakes the woodland to music and life? 

Spring, Spring, ting-a-ling Spring; 

Ting-a-ling, ring-a-ding Spring. 
What spell sets all nature in search of a wife? 

Spring, Spring, ting-a-ling Spring. 
Far down in a glade where the daffodils blow. 
Each spear-head uplifted, each helmet aglow. 
A thousand bright banners are tost in the breeze. 
As the March wind pipes lustily thro' the loud trees — 

Spring, Spring, ting-a-ling Spring; 

Ting-a-ling, ring-a-ding Spring, 
tJnd, So you have returned ! 



UNDINE 51 

^''^- And none too soon it seems! 

{To Huld.) Observe you that? (Aside) O woman like 
revenge, 

To rob my toilet and dethrone my face! 
Hiild. Why seal'dst thou it? 

^^^- Ask me not here. 

^"^^;^ Explain ! 

Or I must countermand it. Methinks of late 

Thou hast exceeded far thy wifely warrant. 

Comes it to this— thy chiefest pastime now 

Is a continual trespass on my patience! 

Thy ghostly ways, thy 

^^^' • My dear and anger'd lord, 

You would not so upbraid your meanest henchman, 
Himself unheard in his defence. How much less 
Do such harsh words become you, spoken in ire 
Against your wedded wife! 

Huld. Say, then, what moved thee to so strange an act? 
A brilliant housewife thou, to cut us off 
From this prized source! 

^^^^- In all the country round 

No spring to equal it! 

^"^^- Wilt thou not answer? 

Und. I did it to avert a greater evil : 

Yet what I fear'd — is for your ear alone. 
Huld. Bertalda's one of us : thou may'st as well 

Speak in her presence. 

^^"^- If thou biddest me,- 

But bid me not, my lord! 

^^^^- I shall withdraw, 

O not for worlds would I intrude upon 
This precious secret! 

H^^d- Wait me on the terrace. 

[Exit Bertalda. 
Und. My lord, sit by me here, as you were wont. 

Bear with me yet a little — for my tale 

Is hard to tell. 'Tis a far-back beginning — 

O help me, husband mine! or I shall fail 

From sheer perplexity: so much — so much 

Is at stake! 



52 UNDINE 

Huld. How can / help thee, Undine? 

Thy chief coadjutor is Kiihleborn: 
No doubt he will assist thee. I' faith thou hast 
Merely to turn thy head, he's at thine elbow! 

Und. Hark back, my lord, — 

Carl seven short months have wrought such change in 

you 
That your dear lips can licence irony? 
In simple faith and maiden innocence. 
To ward me from the evil of the world? 
Ah no, this is not Huldbrand! 'tis another, 
As different from the Huldbrand that I love 
As truth from falsehood! 

Huld. Deemest thou me false? 

Und. False only to your true and nobler self: 
What's Kiihlebdrn to me? 

Huld. His spirit haunts the place: 

This castle, hallow'd by my boyish dreams, 
Still more endear'd by reason of the presehfce 
That fill'd these halls with radiance and light, — 
Here moved my queenly mother, here she died, — 
Is now a charnel-house, where spectres flit 
And grisly phantoms glide all noiseless by. 
These things came not, until I married thee 
And the curst Kiihleborn usurp'd my towers! 

Und. His reign is o'er ; he 

Huld. Nay, 'tis but begun : 

Nightly I hear him in the howling blast ; 
His mocking laugh along the corridors 
Comes hollowly as from the mouth of hell; 
His taunts, his threats — I fear not flesh and blood. 
But his chill breath assails me everywhere. 
Mark'st thou his vengeful spite towards Bertalda? 
What hath she done to thus incur his hate? 
He comes unbidden, steals away unseen. 
And none can trace his coming or his going 
Save thou — and thou art silent! Would to God 
That I had married woman borii of man 
And not of a sea-monster! such thy sire! 

Und. Haply the fount is seal'd, or those harsh words 
Had banish'd me for ever from \'Our sight! 



UNDINE 33 

Yet, Huldbrand, if my presence hath grown hateful, 
Speak, and I rid you oft! Marriage, so dear to me, 
I cannot hold except on terms of love — 
Bars my life the way? Oh, 'tis a little gulf 
That I must cross to set you free again! 
My happiness is centred in your own. 
Derives its breath and being but from you; 
Yours then removed, mine dries up at its source, 
And all the well-springs of my nature starved. 
Better oblivion than the lingering years! 

[Undine -weeps. 
Huld. Undine, forgive me ! Treasure of my soul. 
How despicable must I now appear! 
How fall'n from that high pinnacle whereon 
I woo'd and won thee for my peerless bride! 

that thy wrongs bred stripes, to lash and scourge 
This baseness out of me! And yet thy suflfering. 
Borne with such quiet grace and dignity, 

Hath moved me to a livelier repentance 
Than burning anger or meek-voiced reproof 
Could e'er have done. 
Und. Dearest, you must not kn-c! : 

I, too, have been to blame. A wife should never 
Conceal within her bosom that which seems 
A treason to her lord, for in heart-frankness lies 
The true security of wedded love. 
Misgivings, doubts, and foolish apprehensions 
Have troubled me. Had I been plain with you. 
This had not happen'd. Kiihleborn, alack! 
Is evil-minded, full of jealous fears: 
He thinks — O well I know he wrongs your nature — 
Some secret understanding hath sprung r.p 
Betwixt you and Bertalda, and whene'er 
He sees me weep — as in my childishness 

1 am too prone to do, who quake and tremble 
At the first flash and frown of your displeasure — 
His fancies run awry. Little he dreams 

How smiles succeed to tears, laughter to sadness 
As surely as the sunbeams chase the shadows, 
Joy follows sorrow in the House of Love! 
Lovers may clash, but ever lover knows 



54 UNDINE I 

The breathing balm of reconciliation. ! 

The fountain was the crown of my offending ; i 

Yet thro' that channel only could my kindred I 
Gain access to our home. That door being fast, 
Lord Kiihleborn may knock in vain for entry! 

Huld. Dove-like, thou bearest peace o'er the troubled waters. 

Seal what thou wilt, so we are one again! I 

But first seal up the lips that did impugn i 

Thy sovranal devotion. 1 

Und. (kissing him). My seal is set: 1 

Oh, may it hold, when your ungovern'd words I 
Would rush with murderous precipitance 

Upon Love's citadel! ! 

Huld. When next I fail. 

Seal up my lips in everlasting silence! j 

Und. A three-fold seal I place upon your lips i 

When on, or near, the water (kissing him thrice). For there, I 

oh there, 

My relatives recover their lost power ■ 
Upon my life. Reprove me not before them, 

Or you would place betwixt my heart and yours ! 

A gulf unbridgeable. They would not suffer •; 
One of their race to be rebuked, but i' th' instant 

Would snatch me from your arms in jealous wrath. i 

So were I of all women the most wretched, ; 

Forced to comply with Ocean's stern decree — \ 

Never to see your face! unless — unless : 
You were about to break your marriage vow: 

Then might they send me up to you; but oh, i 

I dare not think what such a call portendeth! ; 

[Eerie and ominous music. ; 

Huld. Dismiss such dark forebodings from thy mind: [ 
The stone remains, and all remains, sweet Undine, 

As thou wilt have it. i 

Und. Now am I blithe again: 

Only in the dear sun of your approval [ 

I live; without it, I should droop and die. \ 

[Huldbrand lovingly conducts her towards j 

castle. i 



UNDINE 55 

Enter Bcrtalda {from archway) with Serving-Men 

Bert, (aside). So! 

The conference has ended happily. 

(To Serv.) About your task: why do you hesitate? 

Huld. (turning). The stone remains where it is placed. 
(To Serv.) Begone! 
The orders of your mistress are conclusive: 
See you observe them! 

[Exeunt Serving-Men zvith gestures of delight. 

Bert. So, 'tis your sovereign will 

Me to humiliate? you thwart my wishes — 
Not once, but with recurring constancy! 
To-day it is the fountain — doubtless, because 
I have found this spring of passing benefit; 
But yesterday you disallow'd our journey 
By water to Vienna, since forsooth 
The Danube renders tribute to that Spectre 
Whose presence here hath scared the plundering owls 
From their old haunts, and not a bird now sings 
In measured distance of this dread abode! 
To-morrow you will find some new occasion 
To cross my will, and to restrict my pleasures. 
You shall not find it! Better the fisher's hut, 
And peace, than all this lavish insolence! 

[Exit Bertalda. 

Und. She knows not what she says. If you desire it. 
Open the well, my lord; but hold me blameless 
For all that follows. Against her Kiihleborn 
Bears special spite. We cannot let her leave us 
Like this — yet, if she stay, she will provoke 
FresTi mischief at his hands, that door unbarr'd. 
I have't: we will console her for this loss 
By the cruise upon the Danube. There's no danger. 
Now that my Huldbrand is all graciousness. 
I shall prevail upon her to remain. 
With that in prospect. 

Huld. Haste to intercept her. 

\Exit Undine. 
(Seating himself) I may no longer evade it: T must face 
The issue set before me. Can a man 



56 UNDINE 

Love — to distraction and to his undoing — 
To women equally? I doubt it! Yet, 
Deprived of either, neither could console me. 
I love them both — but oh, hovvr differently! 
Bertalda, queen of passion and of tears, 
Being veritable w^oman, fires my blood; 
' She wields a sway about each several sense; 

In her magnificence I am undone! 
Undine hath nestled closer to my heart: 
So wilful in her wooing! yet, as wife, 
A visionary presence, sweet and pure; 
Dower'd with every grace, and breathing goodness 
As simply as the lily yields her fragrance 
Upon the Summer air. Traitor as I am, 
I dare not bring on that devoted head 
Such measureless woe, such mute, insurgent pain, 
As the indulgence of this ill-starr'd passion 
Would soon or late provoke. It must not be! 

[Rising. 
O bountiful Nature, why didst thou create 
Two beings so diverse, yet so alluring! 

[Exit. 



UNDINE 5; 



Scene II. — On the Danube. Bertalda and Huldbrand conversing 

apart : Undine asleep. 

Huld. Seems it not like a dream? 

Bert. A dream indeed, 

Too beautiful to last! I shall awake 
To find the old-time sorrow round my heart 
Reproving the futility of dreams. 

Huld. Break not the spell, Bertalda; for to-night 

We are blended, soul and spirit, with the music 
Oh the myriad harps of heaven. 

Bert. Ah, Huldbrand, mine, 

If only we might glide like this forever 
Adown the tranced and glossy flood of Time, 
With but the clustering stars for canopy! 

Huld. We should have found a heaven beyond all dreams. 

Bert, (trailing her hand in the water). Think you it would con- 
tent you? 

Huld. Until thy lips 

Gave up to me a heaven with that heaven. 

[Kiihleborn is seen to rise and snatch her 
bracelet. 

Bert. My bracelet — O my bracelet! 

[A mocking laugh heard. 

1 Rower (affrightedly) . The sea-monster! 

[Uproar and confusion, in which Undine 
awakes. 

2 Rower. Ha, there he dives with his ill-gotten spoil ! 

3 Rower. Mark how he phosphorus plays about his form! 

The pitchy depths reveal this monstrous bulk 
Like to a shouldering whale's! 

4 Rozver. He sinks! he's gone! 
Huld. Th' accursed Kiihleborn! he hath tried my patience 

This time too far! (To Undine) O thou hast hand in this — 

Thou, and thy scaly ! 

Und. (placing her hand over his mouth). Spare me, my lord! 
suppress 
This once thy towering wrath. I will replace 
An hundredfold the trinket that is lost 



58 UNDINE 

Bert. That can you never ! — Not the gold of Ophir 

Nor yet Golconda's gems could recompense me 
For this so grievous loss. — It was a link 
In a long chain of tender memories: 
That chain is broken, and I am fordone! 
, ; [ IVceps. 

Huld. (aside to Bertalda). Weep not, Bertalda ! that which T 
have given 
I can regive: a worthier yet shall grace 
The delicate moulding of thy mantled arm, 
That lures the drowsy cherub to a couch 
As soft as Cupid's pillow. 
Bert. Can you recall 

The day you gave it me? Ah no, you cannot! 
How. then, can you recall this cherish'd keepsake? 
Uvd. (crooning to water-spirits). 

Bring me corals rich and rare, — 
Carcanet or girdle fair. — 
Tinct with prisms of the brine, 
Pink, and white, and crystalline. 
Huld. How thou delight'st to linger on the past! 
Bert> The past is all I have. It is a woman's way 

To linger over things men soon forget. 
Und. (coming forward with coral necklace). Wear this, thou 
dear Bertalda. Will it not 
^ In some degree console thee for thy loss? 
Ah, sweet, forgive my kindred! for this chain 
Is treasured above all the spoils of Ocean: 
These corals are unmatch'd. 

Bert. Take back your corals \ 

I make no peace with your malevolent kind. 
Und. Persuade her, Huldbrand. 

Bert. Nothing shall persuade me ! 

Aught that reminds me of your finny brood 

But stirs my hate. 
Huld. I fear it is no use : 

And — for myself — I do not wish to see 

Her wear it. Zounds! think'st thou I'd be beholden 

To Kiihleborn for this? 
Und. Be gracious, O my lord. 



UNDINE 59 

Huld. Gracious to that unmitigable fiend? 

To pleasure thee, what have I not condoned? 
How long must I endure this meddling kinsman? 
I must suppress my feelings — never speak, 
For fear he overhears me — 'tis a life 
I care not for! , 

Und. Thou disregardest me. 

Huld. Thou art a fool to force this gift upon her ! 
Und. I do implore thee — as thou lov'st me — silence! 
Huld. Silence! I have done with silence! Let him hear! 
Und. Take it, Bertalda ; have pity on us both, 

And end this foolish wrangle. 
Huld. {snatching necklace, and Hinging it into river). So thou 
still 
Hast traffic with him? Then go to him, thou Sorceress — 
Thou, and thy gifts! Abide with him, an thou wilt! 
For to be rid of thee and all thy kin 
Were like blest peace after the pestilence. 
Und. The sea is calling me ! . . . O my beloved. 
Thou doom'st me, in the springtide of my life, 
To eternal banishment from thy dear arms! 

[She Uoats over the side of the barge. 
{In mid-air) I charge thee, be thou faithful unto death ! 
Farewell, my Huldbrand ! Husband, fare thee well! 

[As Undine disappears, a mist rising from 
the river gradually envelops the barge. 
Low wailing voices are heard in the mistj 
and the scene fades out. 



UNDLNE 61 

.-^n interval of over a year between Acts III. and IV. 
ACT IV 



Scene I. — The coral palace under the sea : the vast hall illumined 
with a soft and mystic light. As the curtain rises, the ocean- 
nymphs are discovered at play: some are dancing to the 
accompaniment of small golden harps, but the dance is fre- 
quently disordered by their comrades pelting them with 
pearls and multicoloured shells; others are seen combing out 
their long lustrous tresses, avid decking their persons zvith 
sea-Hozvers. 

Enter Undine. 

Und. Cease — cease, my sisters ! O, for pity cease ! 

Your harping but augments the brief I bear: 

Music hath lost its charm — Oh, had it ever 

The power to soothe a heart so heavily laden? 
1 Nymph. Thou wouldst not have us dull and woebegone. 

Because thy marriage proved ? 

Vnd. Speak no more of it ! 

I was not ever thus. . . . This mortal soul 

Hath its attendant cross and crown of thorns; 

Yet would I not exchange it — no, nor pass 

Back to that soulless life that knows no sorrow: 

Where never falls the shadow of affliction 

Over bent head or agonized brow; 

Where laughter fills the eyes, but smiles do never 

Break in soft ripples round the lips of pain. 

O lives perdurably dispassionate! 

How do ye lack the glamour and the thrill. 

The leap of the pulse, the yearning infinite! 

Better the aching heart, the surging brain, 

Triads that shake the spirit's fortitude, 

Tears that take up the running count of grief, 

Than all the sweet and lilied indolence 

Of lives like yours — spent in the search of pleasure! 

Flower-like you live, flower-like you pass away! 

The mind that suffers with humanity 



62 UNDINE 

Hath richer hold of joy, hath surer hope, 
And at the last — after life's tempest — peace, 
And happy winds to waft the voyager home. 

2 Nymph. Keep thou thy soul ; leave us our fleeting pleasures : 
Enough for us th' enjoyment of To-day! 

[Nymphs retire up stage. 

Uiid. (rapturously) . Huldbrand. my lover thro' th' eternal years! 
To you I owe this dear and wondrous gift: 
Bring 't joy or pain, I thank you for my soul. 

[Flourish. 
Enter Kiihleborn, with his retinue of mermen bearded 
like him,self and bearing arms. 

All. Hail Kuhleborn! 

Kiihl. My gentlest Undine, I 

Am grieved to be the bearer of ill news. 

Und. Hath harm befallen him? 

Kiihl. Harm will befall him 

— Soon. Thou must make thee ready to deliver 
Thy husband from dishonour. 

Und. You demand — death ? 

Kiihl. Thou hast said it! One penalty alone 
Obliterates dishonour and the wrong 
Done to thy kin. Then, see to it. I charge thee! 

(hid. Is his offence not greater towards myself? 
H / forgive the injur}^ — what have they 
To urge that he should die? 

Kiihl. Them thou shalt hear. 

Fain had I spared thee process of his trial. 
But, since thou claimest justice, thou shalt have it. 
And plead thy cause in person, an thou wilt. 
My chair of state! 

eThe royal chair is brought forward. Kiihle- 
born sits, and the mermen and mermaidens 
group themselves about the throne. 

Attend all ye, my people, 
Not lightly do we undertake this duty — 
Hateful at all times, but most painful here. *► 
As touching one so near our royal person — 
Sir Huldbrand, who is wedded to this lady. 
Our niece, and blood-relation of the throne. 
This morning was contracted to another, 



UNDINE 63 

With all the solemn ritual of his Church. 

I would it were not so! 
Mermen. Death to the Traitor! 

Ki'ihl. You go too fast — you strike too near ourself! 

The verdict, at the last, must rest with you; 

But, ere you give 't, first hear the injured wife: 

If she can plead aught in her lord's defence 

Why sentence should not follow in the terms 

Prescribed by th' immemorial law of the sea. 

[Murmurs of dissatisfaction. 
Und. My lord. 

And ye, who constitute yourselves his judges, 

I claim a wife's first privilege — to share. 

In sickness or in health, in weal or woe. 

Her husband's fortunes. If you. then doom to death 

The man I love — know that you doom me also! 

One shroud shall serve for both; one grave unite us. 
Kiihl. (to Court). That point you may dismiss. Who ever 
heard 

A wife should suflfer for her husband's guilt? 
rnd. All wives do suflfer for their husband's guilt — 

Daily and hourly — suflfer silently — 

It is the lot of women so to suflfer! 
Kiihl. Not in our kingdom ! Defilement is so rare 

As scarce to constitute a cause of suflfering. 
Und. Happily so : but, in the greater world of men, 

Such sorrows do prevail. 
Kiihl. (angrily). Leave me mankind! 

Und. Ay, but 3'ou are judging one of human kind — 

He shall have justice! My husband deems me dead. 

And, by the laws of God and Man, he's free 

To solemnize these second nuptials — and 

With rites of Holy Church. 
Kiihl. The law is the law : 

JVc know no soft gradations for divorce : 

This sacred bond is indissoluble! 

With us there's no remarrying! hence it follows 

That whoso violates his marriage vow 

Inviteth death. 
I'nd. Alas, he is prejudged! 

What can I urge, that would delay one moment 

The stroke of doom? 



64 UNDINE 

Kiihl. Thou'rt right; he is prejudged: 

And so be all, who do forswear their vows! 

Uiid. This trial is, then, a mockery ! 

Kiihl. Yet it serves 

To show thee what thy kinsfolk think of those 
Who would profane these solemn mysteries. 
Enough! (To Court) Your verdict? 

All. Strangle him! strangle him! death to the traitor! 

Und. (aside). And, oh, to think that I was once like these! 

Kiihl. There was no other verdict possible. 

Yet, seeing thou are a princess of the blood, 
We will stretch mercy to its furthest limit — 
Thyself shalt be the instrument to summon 
This wanton worlding to the land of shadows. 

Und. I — /. my lord! Mercy begins her reign! 

Who, but myself, should bear the fatal mandate? 
Sweet, Reconciler, Death ! dear Liberator ! [Aside. 

Two stricken hearts this eve thou shalt enfranchise. 

[Faints. 

Ki'thl. (in a broken voice). Take her away! Let me not see 
her face 
Until he is no more. (As if to himself) My little Undine, 
Would that I could have spared him for thy sake! 

[Sinks back dejectedly upon his throne. 



UNDINE 65 

Scene II. — A bedchamber at Castle Ringstetten: Bertalda's tire- 
women busy about the room. On the bed a number o( 
sumptuous robes are displayed. 

1 Wom. What colour think you she will choose to-morrow? 

2 Wom. If the day should be fair, 

Gert. Take it from Tne, 

It will be fellow to the one now closing. 
2. Worn. Could there be such another? so aghast? 

For not within the mind of any living 

Are like scenes chronicled. 

3 Wom. No, nor of the 4ead: 

'Faith, 'twas enough to wake them from th^ir sleep 
r the quiet churchyard yonder! 

1 Wom. The chapel rock'd, 

What time these two stood blanch'd before the altar; 
And when he placed the ring upon her finger. 
The lightning play'd about the golden circlet 
Till 't seem'd her hand took fire. 

Gert. Have done — have dpne ! 

This bitter day calls for no second count. 
Go, put those trapping by: select you that 
Empieced with green and mauve. Men seldom heed 
The dexterous subtleties of our attire: 
A robe doth please, or fail, as it hath power 
To reinvest the wearer with the charm, 
The attributes that on a day were hers. 
That robe she wore at his first tournament: 

It suits her, and he will remember Ah, [Sigh^. 

Better Sir Konrad than this stricken Knight, 
For death sits on his frontlet! All's not well. 

3 Wom. Thou'rt gloomier than ourselves. 

Gert. I cannot think 

That good will come of this — Ha, heard you that? 

3 Worn. 'Twas but the screech-owl calling to his mate. 

Gert. Often I have thought throughout this livelong day 
That the dear, gracious lady, his first wife. 
Was looking on at this ill-fated marriage 
With sorrowful eyes. As often did I turn, 
Thinking the door would give her to my sight. 
I am shaken with misgivings! — What was 't that stirr'd? 



(£ UNDINE 

2 Worn. The gnawing rodent burrowing i' the wainscot r 

Sure, it could be naught else! 
Cert. Much as I love 

My mistress, it were a most blest relief 

To put a many miles between myself 

And this devil-haunted place! Listen! that wail — ? 

That moaning as of spirits from the tomb! . 
1, Worn. Belike the wind searching the chimney-stacks. 

There! if you give your nerves the rein like this, 

You'll fright us all. The hour calls for mirth. 
Gert. Oh, my dears, 

God grant no greater evil chance this night f 

My limbs are all a-tremble. 

Enter Bertalda 

Bert. ' Such a greeting? 

And on my bridal night! Why. what hath scared you? 

As terror-eyed as tho' you look'd upon 

My wraith — and not on me! Am I not fair? 

Then let my beams break thro' your cloudy bars! 

Come, kiss me, all of you, and wish me joy. 

(Kissing than) Poor startled doves, this is no hour for 
trembling! — 

'Faith! 'tis the blithest hour of all my life — 

If / should tremble, 'twere to better purpose! 

But all my tremors, like silly, huddling sheep. 

Are shepherded in folds of sweet content. 

Come now, unpin me straight. 
Gert. Ah, what a picture ! 

Your cheeks are like sea-shells to-night, my child, — 

Rose-pink and pearl, yet tinct with living hues: 

Such colours as invest the streaming sands 
' At sunset, flushing back the crimson glow: 

Now rich, now pale, now softly interchanging 

With all the shades that lie 'twixt pink and pearl. 
Bert. You praise too warmly, Gertrude ! My dancing blood 

Makes beautiful what might not seem so else. 

Tf now I look not fair, when shall I ever? 

The fruit is ripe, hangs trembling on the tree — 

Now at its mellowest, should it not taste sweet? 

May he, who comes to pluck it, find it sol 



UNDINE 67 

Gert. Oh, that I'll warrant! 

Bert. Yet methinks this necl< 

Is freckled more than it was wont to be. 
1 Worn. They are beauty spots, my lady: why, such a skin, 

Softer than peach-bloom, more delicately vein'd 

Than pansies in the flush of Summer's prime. 

Is sorely tried by these moist July mists, 

That do inflict more desultory ravages 

Than the fierce burnings of unclouded days. 
Bert. Ha! that remedial water from the well — 

Why should I not apply 't? 
1 Worn. If only we might! 

Bert. Who now shall cross my will, or thwart my wishes? 

Was 't by my orders that the spring was closed? 
Gcrt. Be guided by your lord in this, my lady : 

He knows what's best, believe me! 
Bert. So all men think; 

But do they? where we women are concern'd? 

But that's beside the point? Know, from this hour, 

I 'will be soverign lady at Ringstetten. 

Go you and see to it. [Exit Maid. 

Gert. (aside). A rash beginning! 

They are not wise who use their power too soon. 
Bert. A good start is the prelude to success 

r the managing of men as of affairs. 

For mark you this — if we would rule our husbands. 

We must subdue them whilst they are suitors to us. 

Tlie male is arrogant when in possession ; 

But — short of it — he bends to seek our favours. 

I'll strike! while yet his passion's at the full. 

[The clank of metal upon stone heard without. 

The chimes of freedom ; that's the merriest music 

I have heard this many a day ! Strike on ! Strike hard ! 

And let the sparkling waters bubble free! 

Not Moses to the parching multitude 

Gave keener joy than this, when he smote the rock 

And the bright stream gush'd forth in full abundance — 

A visible deity to their famish'd eyes! 

So end my trials here. 



68 UNDINE 

Gert. {from zvindow) . The stone is lifting! 

It seems as though some power within the well 

Did ease the labour of the taking off — 

The fountain rises like a misty wraith — 

The men fall back in terror — O, my lady! [Faints, 

[Shrieks heard belozv. ] 

Bert, (moving tozvards windozvs) . Why, what hath chanced? j 

. . . A white and veiled figure ' 

Is stepping from the well: it moves across the court — i 

Slowly — as if in pain — and with bent head — i 

It fronts me — lifts its veil — God! can it be? | 

It is — it is Undine I — and I am lost ! | 

[Bertalda staggers tozvards the bed and falls, ! 

zvhilst the maids rush shrieking from the' I 

room. \ 



UNDINE 69 

Scene III. — Another room in the Castle. 
Enter Huldbrand and Karl. 

Karl. Come, come, — a livelier countenance ! or the bride 

Will think you do not value as you should 

The gift a woman can bestow but once. 
. The Church has given her blessing; you are sped 

Thro' all formalities; now young and old 

Alike are envying you your happy fortune. 
Huld. Yet, if they knew, — if they could darkly guess, — 

The unimagined terrors that assail 

Me, night and day, they would not envy me! 

These vague forebodings 

Karl. What can you have to fear? 

Huld. Naught tangible ; could I but give a name 

To this my fear, I were the master of it. 

'Tis the unknown that doth afifright us most. 
Karl. Well — well, we run from shadows, and stand hrm 

When danger truly fronts us. The mind rules all! 

(Pouring out zvine) Drink, and away with shadows ! for you 
have 

Realities now to deal with — such, methinks, 

As should enliven older veins than yours. 

If youth but knew the fulness of its measure! 

Why came not Father Heilmann to the feast? 
Huld. I met him in the forest yestereve 

And ask'd him wherefore he did sconce himself 

Within a narrow hut so nigh my castle. 

After his stern refusal to pronounce 

The marriage blessing. 
Karl. Ah; and what said he? 

Huld. There be yet other rites than those of marriage. 

Which may call for my presence. For, my son. — 

Except to those who blindly shut their eyes 

Towards evil, and permit presumptions thoughts 

To hold dominion of the heart, — life shows us 

How often mourning follows after joy. 

The widow's weeds close on the wedding garment' 
Karl. 'Tis a lugubrious priest! you would do well 

To put him from your mind. 



70 UNDINE 

Huld. If that were all 5 

Last night I dreamt that I was poised above 
The purple Mediterranean^ borne aloft 
On the backs of many swans, and as we drifted 
To the low song men say portendeth death, 
I saw beneath me, far as eye could see, 
The ocean caves and the bright-gemm'd pavilions 
Where Ktihleborn holds his court; for the still waters 
Were crystal clear to their profoundest depths. 
And, whilst I watch'd. Undine herself appear'd, 
Not blithe and artless as the day I wood'd her 
Upon the strip of land, but a tristful woman, 
Wearing the luminous crown that hallows grief: 
Tearless she sat, with parted lips, and eyes 
Dim gazing as upon some far horizon. 
Whilst those about her gave themselves to mirth. 
And last came Kiihleborn, with cruel taunts 
And brutal inquisition of his peers 
On my approaching marriage. 

Karl. Ha! and she ? 

fluid. Not a word: but she wrung her hands and wept — 
Not Niobe more piteous! Oh, I had given 
Life, and the Hope beyond, to feel once more 
That golden head close-gather'd to my breast. 

Karl {dash'mg a tear from his eye) 'Twas ever a tender heart 
lor all her moods! 

Huld. The more she wept, the more she did enrage 

Her ferine kinsman; who, now past restraint. 
Flung at her words of such ili-omen'd sound 
That vengeance sang i' my heart the song of blood — 
The song that makes men rush with joy on death. 

Karl. What was their import? 

Huld. 'Meet it is, Undine, 

Thou straightway tree thine husband from dishonour: 
Death settles all accounts!* 

Karl. So he would dash 

Your joy, and use her as the instrument! 
How faced she this? 

Huld. She laugh'd defiance, saying, 

'The well is closed: I may not now approach him; 
And so thy fell decree falls to the ground.' 



UNDINE 71 

*ril find thee present opportunity,' 

The fiend made answer. At that my dream dispersed. 

And I awoke to the sound of marriage-bells — 

My wedding-day had dawn'd. 

Karl. You have ta'en precautions. 

Then, in the matter of the well? 

Huld. Why should I? 

Bertalda is more fearful of its opening 
Than I: sheM never countermand my order. 
And none else dare. 

Karl. Yet stranger things have happened. 

The wind hath falFn — how sultry hangs the night. 
Burden'd with mystery! 

Huld. Thou, too, grown fanciful ! 

Avaunt such fears! 

Karl, (going). Better to know all's saft 

FlI sleep the sounder for that certain knowledge. 

[Exit Karl r. 

Huld. Invisible Powers ! that rule our destiny. 
Ye I invoked to grant my heart's desire. 
And ye have answer'd me! almost before 
My speeding thought could ripen to fulfilment. 
To-night she's mine! All — all that I have hoped. 
When hoping seem'd but to augment despair. 
Has come to pass — is now within my grasp! 
Yet in ' this moment of complete possession, 
'Tis not her face, that moves across my sight. 
But Undine's! — patient, gentle, and submissive: 
It seems to plead with me against myself. 
If there be spirits in the air around us. — 
Surely I could believe she touch'd me then? 
Lightly, upon the brow? / should know her touch. 

[Knock heard zviihouf. 
The bride grows restive: what a bridegroom. I! 
Why tarrieth my desire? Its wings are furl'd 
In the close stillness of this mystic night, 
That seems to breathe of Undine, . O gentle hearl. 

'Tis a last tribute that my soul must pay thee: 
For thou wert true and tender — never wife 
Was more devoted, loTelier in her life. 

[Knocf: rcf^catcJ. 



72 UNDINE I 

i 

How like her knock ! when she was wont to play ':■ 

The truant to my love, to lure me on ; 

To flame-engirdled raptures of pursuit. i 

[Knocking continues. 
What can it be but fancy? . . Undine — Undine! 

I pledge thee in one long and last farewell. 

[Drains goblet. , 

Now to the wedding-chamber! | 

[The door opens slowly (left), and Undine j 

glides into the room. ] 

Und. Yes, Huldbrand, , 

But — to a cold one! 
Huld. (turning). The touch, and now the voice! 

(Ind. The well is open'd : and lo ! I am come. ^ 

The embrace thou seekest, thou shalt never know! 
I claim thee for the love that was between us; ' 

I claim thee nozu, before thy soul has mingled 
In that sweet mystic union, which was ours. 
No other heart shall beat upon thy bosom 
But this — the heart thou searedst with thy passion. 
Mine thou shalt be in death — mine, mine for ever! ! 

Oh, not in hate, but mercy, am I come. 
To guide thee down the lone paths of the tomb. 

fluid. Raise not thy veil, but slay me where I stand: : 

Disclose not to me, in my dying hour, ; 

The face of some sea-monster — spare me that! 

horrible to look on the dark brood 

Of Ocean when it spawns upon the land! ' 

Half sea-fish and half ape! i 

Und. Thy fears are groundless. } 

1 came not here to torture thee, my lord — ' 
{Unveiling) Am I not she whom once thou fondly cherish'd 
Within thy heart of hearts? ! 

Huld. My Undine ! my — | 

Und. Ah, kiss me not ! for in that kiss lies death : 

And I have much to ask thee. 
Huld. Say on, my soul ! i 

Und. Thy love returns, now that it is too late? \ 

fluids My love flows back with a redoubled force. \ 

I have been blind, and Fate has punish'd me! 



UNDINE 7^ 

Und. Thou still dost love me — more than this Bertalda? 

Huld. A thousand times ! I realise, too late, 

The worlds that lie betwixt my love for thee 
And this poor, fleeting passion for Bertalda. 

Und. O perjure not thy soul at this last hour! 

Huld. It is not perjury: I speak but truth. 

Und. Then art thou willing to go down with me 
Into the dark and silent grave? 

Huld. Hush, Undine! 

I, only, am adjudged worthy of death. 
Why shoust thou lose the light, and shut such beauty 
Up in that narrow room? I go — alone. 

Und. How would that bring me peace? Could I live on. 
And know that thou wert gone from me for ever? 
Since thou must die. I too, must nestle here: 

[Laying her head on his breast 
This is my sanctuary, where I will lie 
Until the Great Awakening. We shall sleep sound, 
Lock'd in each other's arms. 'Tis but 'good-night,* 
And then to wake upon some bright To-morrow, 
Where pain and passion shall have pass'd away. 

Huld. Thou makest me in love with this sweet sleep: 
Give me thy lips, and so 'good-night — good-night!' 

[She gives him the kiss of death, and then 
sinks down upon his body. 

Re-enter Karl with Father Heilmann 

Karl. What, Undine !— dead— both dead! 

Heil. God's over all? 

No more shall passion tempt this purblind knight! 

[Pauses to cover Huldbrand's face. 
So passion lures us! and so passion endeth 
In dust and ashes! bitter the remembrance! 
Love's torch was never lit with wanton fires, 
But with a steady and serener light 
That burneth, on and on, till the low flame 
Sinks in the lamp of life — to shine elsewhere. 
For the light God puts out here, He kindles anew 
In nobler mansions of transmuted clay. 
Where spirit and flesh are one. and serve His ends — 



74 UNDINE 

Not, in eternal conflict, as on earth, 

But striving each to consecrate the other — 

By love made whole, by union perfected. 

{Curtain. 
1907. 



m\ 5 mm 



